


And it's me and you

by SC182



Series: the end of the world as we know it [1]
Category: Fast Five (2011), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/SC182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A disaster may be caused by carelessness, negligence, bad judgment, or the like, or by natural forces. Sometimes, it's an earth-shaking change, referring to a personal or public upheaval.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all we'll have (when the world is through)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long overdue prompt fill from 2012. Prompter asked for the 'end of the world' and this is a (very) liberal interpretation of the prompt. 
> 
> In this universe, dudes sometimes have babies.They're Carriers. What can I say?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein. The main characters as well as any supporting characters are the property of their creators and Universal Pictures. Any deviation (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> A/N: Summary taken from Random House Dictionary. Story and chapter title from Beyonce's "1+1".

* * *

 

I. (6 weeks)  
  
He spat in the sink for the third time, forcing the lingering taste of bile and acidified beans and rice off his tongue.  
  
Brian watched the rush of water from the faucet with a determined gaze as it carried away the remains of Vince and Rosa’s hospitality down the drain. Then he dropped his head low between his shoulders, because this was the last thing he needed, really.  
  
There was no point in looking in the mirror; he knew what he looked like, and what he saw was all bad: dark shadows bruising the skin below his eyes like battle scars, worn deep purpled arcs in his skin; his naturally tan complexion verging on pale and peaky; and a new sharpness to his features from the mountain load of stress on his shoulders and the near constant rebellion of food in his gut.  
  
It was fair to say that he looked like an extra in some low budget zombie feature shot down in the Valley. It would have been better to be an actual zombie, Brian thought, than deal with what he truly was. Just be dead, rather than being like this—waiting for Dom’s reaction that might just kill him anyway, or wanting to disappear before being the recipient of Mia’s signature sympathetic gaze.  
  
To his left, a tentative knock rattled the bathroom door. “Brian,” Mia called, and he hesitated in answering, just stared down into the clear surge of swirling water and wished he could slide down drain and way as well.  
  
He immediately regretted the thought. First, for Mia’s sake, then Dom’s, though the jury was still out on whether he was a walking dead man.

But he was still alive, for now at least, and he would make the best of the situation.  
  
“Yeah, “he replied, carefully modulating and raising his voice over the din of the running water, “Be out in a second,” he promised. His throat hurt, as did his stomach, and he was literally at the crossroads of fucked but not in a good way.  
  
Mia didn’t ask if he was okay, simply agreed with a small, “Okay,” and backed away from the door, for which Brian was grateful. She’d learned the hard way after being snapped at one too many times since this had started.  
  
He released a staggered breath, coughing roughly to ease his abused throat, as he saw her shadow back away from the door. The moment the shadow fully disappeared, he relaxed, releasing his grip on the sink; his fingers white under the pressure. So tight, the frame moaned as his hands pulled away.  
  
Brian didn’t know what to do with his hands afterwards, free just like his thoughts but with no wheel to take and no real destination at hand, because, for once, the destination wasn’t important, nor how they would get there. Being unsure like this had never been his thing. So he acted on impulse—an old habit—he shut the water off, heavily dropped his arms to his sides and tried to think.

For all his planning and preparation to spring Dom from prison—details, angles, and time intervals plotted down to the last second—he hadn’t thought much of himself in this equation, beyond his skills as a driver and intel provider as an ex-Fed. Just seemed to take on the role of mastermind and accomplice, according to the last bit of info ciphered from the web; just along for the ride as he had initially planned. But the details? The ones he’d been so keen on when it came to following the bus, the extraction, and the final escape south of the border were treated with the utmost importance.  
  
The devil being in the details and of course he’d managed to forget the small important ones. Now he was fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked beyond all belief. Brian hadn’t spared a thought towards reupping his implant thirteen weeks ago. And he certainly hadn’t given a shit about condoms six weeks ago. He’d been boned then, and now, well, he was just plain, old-fashioned screwed.  
  
Knowledge being power should have made him feel better about what was happening. But the fact that this was happening to him at all—let alone as an ex-Fed turned internationally wanted fugitive with fuck-all money, less than concrete plans for laying low, a tentative grasp of Spanish and Portuguese, and an imminent crisis of his and Dom’s making staring him in the face—made the situation far too real for him.  
  
His anger, fueled by stress and a sheer tsunami of hormones was mounting exponentially and growing more furious with each passing day since he’d caught on. But it was ordered though into a rising hierarchy of blame.  
  
Last on Brian’s list was Vince, who knew something was up, because Brian looked like he was barely managing to survive the end of the world, and the dick pulled his punches instead of being the snarky douche that he was. Continental immigration be damned, Brian had read people for a living and his basic survival had depended on it for years, and he could literally see Vince’s decision to keep his mouth shut and turn left down Non-Confrontational Boulevard instead of Raging Asshole Lane. Ass.  
  
Mia. Mia was on his list for being too understanding and forgiving. She didn’t tell him no in explicit words when he tried to pick up where they’d left off before he and Dom had gone off to Mexico for Braga. Just kissed his cheek and stared up at him with luminous brown eyes and a small sad smile at her lips.  
  
“In another life maybe.” She’d smelled like flowers circulated through sterile air, like the hospital where she did her internship. “If you’d come back sooner and before,” she paused, her look wavering between sad and grim, “Before he came back, then maybe,” she’d said.  
  
Mia hadn’t let him explain, hadn’t wanted to hear another word before she released him. She’d let him go then but hadn’t been lying. If she’d let him kiss her then maybe things would be different.  
  
Then there was Dom, the bastard he couldn’t resist. His kryptonite. The force behind every supposedly reckless decision he’d made in the last six years. Dom represented time, opportunity, and motive, which Brian acted on with no regrets, save one.  
  
Mia had floated off to elsewhere with her cousins Tego and Rico, leaving him and Dom with the backdrop of some minor celebration, too obscurely Catholic for either of them to recognize, stirring up the air with rip, roaring ruckus, food, and extremely liberal access to _cervezas frias_ on such a holiday.  
  
Damn Dom for canting his head towards an emptier street and the quiet lanes leading out towards miles and miles of dirt roads and the placid Gulf. As they’d walked, Dom bumped into his shoulder, and Brian had accepted the knock for what it was—an invitation for a challenge. They didn’t have to speak, because they knew each other and could react instinctively and correctly. Always had. Through trial and error, betrayals and sacrifices, they’d learned that either was being most honest was in the things they did rather than said.

That was how he ended up chasing Dom’s taillights through the black edges of open low grasslands and beach. He’d flitted from the Charger’s fender to blind spot until Dom took a sharp right turn down a sloping path, leading to soft white sand. What they found was a beach, deserted by night, and a barely erect lean-to with an unobstructed view of the unfurling waves, the stars, and the flashing nautical beacons that sparkled red against the black of endless sky and sea.  
  
In the silence, it was easy to get swept up in the cold beer and the warm and loose feeling that came from sitting on too warm steel and counting the steady tics from the engine in counterpoint to the flowing tide. The grin Dom aimed at him was all easiness and bright like the moon come down to earth and, damn, that was it. Brian was that easy.  
  
The most deserving of blame was him because he was always looking to follow and up the challenge. And with Dom, that was all the time. He drank too much, drank until he felt unwound and buzzed, skin electric and charged for contact. Brian took a circular path, continuing his dance of flitting in and out of Dom’s orbit, shying away before getting caught. Like a firefly, he darted in and out of range, alight and daring Dom to catch him.  
  
And he did.  
  
Caught him by the elbow in an iron grip and reeled him in. Sand being what it was; it didn’t offer much in the way of resistance though that was mostly his fault.  
  
Then he got flashed _that grin_ , so freaking rare, like an eclipse. It hit all the right high-strung notes inside of him, and he was done, buckling under the force of Dom and gave in to the pull of the tide that drew him in like a force of nature.  
  
It might have started vaguely easy, with Dom’s hand fisted in his shirt and his lips taking a lazy journey up to Brian’s mouth via the long, lean highway of his neck. But Brian pushed, escalated the contact from caress to collision. He pushed and tugged. Dom reacted, picked up his momentum and unleashed it on Brian, wrestling him to the ground beneath the woven roof of the shack. This was far from making it in the backseat on prom night in high school.  
  
This was Brian shoving, bucking and controlling while Dom pressed, contained, demanded him to stay. Brian moved over Dom, listing him from his side to back like a hurricane made flesh. Then he was on top with Dom under him, blunt hard fingers gripping his hips and the top of his ass with a stormy trail of bruises cropping up in their wake while the rest of his fingers worked him, made him so wet and ready for the naked cock that stiffened more and more with each stroke of the breeze over flesh.  
  
All that planning and promise fled, just like his restraint under an eruption of incoherent sensations— _hot, wet, hard, so hard, humid, faster, faster, now, there and more and more_.

The next morning he looked like a survivor of a dogfight.  
  
Did they talk about it?

What was there to talk about?

Brian blockaded that road when Dom tried to broach the subject. That morning, they stared at the sea and went back like everything was the same.  
  
Nothing changed.  
  
Not when they hooked up again a few days later. Or the day after that. Or every other day when they could find the space and time before Dom split outside of Caracas.  
  
And now Brian was in Rio waiting for Dom and stuck in limbo.  
  
Brian dared to look himself in the eye through the mirror. The onus was on him, on both of them really, so he’d own it. What was an adventure without unexpected company?  
  
He’d never spent more than a few fundamental thoughts over his situation; never really thought about his hypothetical future children, other than wanting to have some one day. Never considered the how or what his role would be in their arrival.  
  
None of that mattered now.  
  
Brian took one last glance in the mirror, committed the image to memory and promised himself that no matter what he would survive, just like he always had.  
  
The door swung open silently and Brian stepped into the hall where Mia was speaking softly with Rosa until they noticed him. Rosa squeezed Mia’s shoulder and excused herself but not before issuing Brian a small, tight grin, which set his stomach back into a jumbled knot.  
  
“Feel better?” Mia asked, approaching him slow and cautiously, as if he would fly apart or away at the slightest provocation. Not that he would or truthfully could; his stomach wouldn’t allow it.  
  
He nodded, finding it easier because his mouth felt like cotton and tasted many times worse.  
  
Mia’s arms came around him then, so thin but deceptively strong, clutching at him like she would be his sandbag to keep him anchored to the ground. And this—this was what he hadn’t wanted when he realized what was happening to him was, indeed, happening. Mia was doing her thing, just being Mia—the voice of reason and comfort, despite how much of a flakey jackass he’d been to her, further exemplified by him moving on to her brother.  
  
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Mia tightened her hold on him, bringing her head to rest on his chest for a few quiet seconds before backing up to look up at him.  
  
“We’re in this together. All of it,” she said, “Understand? We’re family. Whatever you want do, I’ll back you, okay?”

It had always been him backing Dom and Dom backing him. With their little boys club, it was easy to forget how strong Mia was until she managed to shock them, like now. Brian never wanted to be that person, or that guy, really; the one that got supported by his ex-girlfriend because he dicked around (literally) with her brother and got knocked-up because fate and Mother Nature had sick, sick senses of humor.  
  
Just as strident as before, she told him, “Whatever it is, I’m with you. Family always sticks together.” And in another life he would have been comforting her and not thinking of how many ways his world could be over.  
  
“Thanks, but I haven’t gotten that far.” Which was true.  
  
For the things he wanted, he planned and took ballsy shots then he played by ear.  
  
Then there was Dom, who messed up all of his plans, which was how he ended up here.  
  
Brian would take his time, though he knew time wasn’t on his side and going slow in this wasn’t the way to go but, for the first time, going slow would make him feel better.  
  
Brian huffed out a laugh, a slightly winded sound, “I know I gotta stop drinking.”  
  
He already had a couple of weeks ago.  
  
Mia made an affirming gesture with her head, “Yeah, that and stop driving so fast.”  
  
“Whoa, one thing at a time,” Brian teased, holding up his hands to stop her from going on.  
  
She pinched his bicep evilly, like a friend might or a sister. “That’s my niece or nephew in there,” she pointed before dropping her hand on his still as of yet flat and firm stomach, “You and Dom may like getting tossed around like scrambled eggs but I have to look out for this one.”  
  
Brian didn’t push her hand away, just accepted the warmth of her touch and the fact that he seemed to have arrived at a tacit decision. “You’re not the only one, but for now, we’ll start slow. Easy stuff first.”  
  
“Alright,” Mia agreed, “And Dom?”  
  
He soaked up the sensation of her hand on him because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do the same yet. Her touch lacked an old heat that coursed between them but carried a weight of security.  
  
As for Dom, he didn’t know.  
  
“Just because we’ve opted for slow doesn’t mean we have forever. This one,” she smiled fondly at him, “will be riding shotgun in the Nissan in no time.”  
  
He knew that. Time like everything else happened to get away from him lately. He would handle Dom when the time was right. “Let’s go yank Vince’s chain and then I’ll really feel better.”  
  
Thirty, possibly single (it was complicated), jobless, internationally wanted, with a kid on the way and his ex-girlfriend and said kid’s aunt riding shotgun across South America. Honestly, this was better than he could have imagined things turning out. Brian had survived impossible collisions, high speed chases, evaded the LAPD and the FBI; a kid would be a piece of cake.


	2. Don't know much about algebra (One plus one equals two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A revelation is an uncovering, a bringing to light of that which had been previously wholly hidden or only obscurely seen._

**II. (8 weeks)**

 Brian rolled the sweaty bottle of beer that Dom had given him between his palms. The slow, slick slide of the glass over his skin was hypnotic—calming to the nerves that were buzzing like live circuits beneath his skin.  The night was dark, but the city glowed and twinkled like a chaotic symphony of concrete, steel, corrugated tin, and the restless whisper of more trees than the eye could count.

He had known that a conversation was coming. Dinner felt more like a sham, just some shady pretext for the rumble to come. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Mia who’d jumped at the chance to get him alone. The fact that Dom went to say goodnight to her and was possibly using the moment to try to sniff out what was lying heavily between the two of them actually gave Brian just the slightest bit of relief. At least now, while he focused his attention on reversing the direction of the bottle, he could pretend that everything was fine. Without Mia’s stare boring into his back with the heat of a butane torch, he could finally breathe and, most importantly, think.

His eyes bounced from the tiny cabs, zippy and compact like tin crabs, honking and skittering across the streets. For all the apparent differences that Rio had to offer up, some things were a universal constant, which made Brian crack a half-smile. He gratefully counted the inherent impatience of cabbies as one normal thing he could relate to while being caught out in a sea of crazy.

The bottle stills between his hands, immobilized by the warped label that fell off under the assault of the condensation and Brian’s need to be distracted. It was an old nervous habit; one that he could have avoided, had he been able to just toss back the whole bottle. Brian hadn’t even managed to read the label before he set about worrying the surface. And as things tended to do, the wrapping fell apart just like their plans.

Somehow he hadn’t seen the last couple of days ending with him jumping off a speeding train onto the back of a car, hurdling off a cliff like fucking Butch Cassidy, or running through the narrow alleys of a favela like a fox hearing the baying of the hounds. Now he had a fair assortment of cuts and bruises as proof of his adventures. He pointedly ignored the incessant soreness of his gut that felt supercoiled and knotted. The intermittent sting of his cheek was pleasant compared to the state of his middle. Mia had almost laid him out when she smacked him after Dom relayed their two-part escape from the train and Reyes’ spot.

She’d shaken her head vehemently, looking at him with disbelief, muttering, “Un-be-lievable,” over and over again. Because, as unbelievable as it was, she’d never realized how reckless and stupid he could be. Not that he could blame her. Every time he moved, he felt like each twinge was magnified from a glancing blow to the aftermath of a head on collision.  Causing a fluttery sense of panic to rise within his throat and steal the words that he’d only days ago come to acknowledge and haltingly accept.

But he knew. Somehow Brian just knew that everything was okay. That he hadn’t fucked up as much as Mia (and he) feared he had. Despite the aches and pains, Brian knew with absolute certainty, though he’d never be able to describe how, that everything was fine. Not even born yet and this kid was putting Brian through his paces. Could he expect anything less from his and Dom’s spawn?

Behind him the glass doors separating the patio from the apartment slide back along the rusty track. Despite the ambient honks and hum from below, the sound was surprisingly loud and disruptive to the tide of Brian’s thoughts.

When Dom appeared at Brian’s shoulder with another beer, Brian shook his head in refusal. If Dom’s eyebrows climbed up to his non-existent hairline curiously but not quite accusingly, Brian blithely ignored the look.

He considered whether in the next couple of minutes he would be faced with another glaring example of one of his many faults. The same way reupping his implant had slipped his mind, which had been a logical course of action after getting Dom off the bus and hightailing it south of the border and had also slipped his mind.

Wasn’t it a natural law that every action had a consequence? Fuck physics. And fuck him for being stupid. And Dom too for trying to be subtle and slide up beside Brian like they had all the time in the world to shoot the shit. By Brian’s count, they had maybe 33 or 34 weeks tops before shit became the definition of being absolutely real.

Brian’s decline didn’t stop Dom from cracking the seal on his own bottle. “You two alright?” He asked giving Brian a quick darting look from the corner of his eye.

The part of him that lacked a brain to mouth filter like Rome wanted to sarcastically  drop the news like Humpty Dumpty doing a drunken conga on a tightrope. Something like— _yeah, we’re cool, just, you know. Mia’s pissed you knocked me up apparently and I jumped off a train, then a cliff, and was almost tortured. She’s just worried about the stress, you know…simple stuff._

Haltingly, Brian answered, “Yeah, yeah, “and kept his eyes stubbornly trained on the cityscape.  He wondered what Mia had said to Dom because Brian knew Dom had asked her.

Dom seemed willing enough to let Brian deflect and dodge providing a bullshit answer. Not for long though. Dom’s attempts at subtlety carried the same finesse as a runaway train prepping to jump the track.

“You sure about that?” Dom prodded and Brian reflexively shrugged. “Takes a lot to rile up Mia, so I gotta ask what’d you do?”

Brian considered all that Mia could have said. What was obvious was the fact that his condition was still under wraps. Brian couldn’t be sure he was entirely grateful for that. Sometimes it was best to just clear the air, get everything out in the open—the conversational equivalent of ripping a Band-Aid off a raggedly healed patch of flesh.

Dom had every right to be cagey and speculative. Brian saw how everything looked from Dom’s perspective all too easily; gone a couple of weeks and he came back to his sister and her sorta-kinda-but-not-really ex and Dom’s current whatever acting like they had the world’s biggest secret to carry. So that caginess that was directing this mild inquisition was a natural reaction of a big brother with a bone to pick and someone facing the legitimate question of whether they’d been stepped out on while their back was turned.

Brian cleared up one of those doubts easily enough. “Nothing’s happened between me and Mia, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

 “But do you want something to happen?” Dom prodded.

Yes, Brian wanted something to happen but not with Mia.  He was addicted. Each flash of memory – the rasp of stubble on his skin during a sloppy kiss, the rough scratch of calluses on sensitive sun baked skin, the stretch and burn of being used up and spent—was a new high. Brian had known addicts all his life, well before and after becoming a cop, and so he knew what a junkie looked like.  He had all the signs and symptoms of a body lost in the throes of addiction. Getting his fix meant having Dom in any capacity and no one else. Just Dom.

“What do you think?” Brian propped himself up on the railing facing Dom and schooled his features to radiate nonchalant defiance. Despite being nauseated, he wanted Dom badly. He was jonesing for another hit while also wondering if this was the first of many cravings to come.

Like a bull with a red flag, Dom charged, “Answer the question.”

Brian shook his head, wishing he could’ve had a beer to take the edge off, but knew this was only the beginning of more sobering conversations to come. “Dom, no, just… no.” That hot fluttery feeling choked his stomach and nausea crept up his throat with dizziness beginning to cloud his head. He made a strong effort of swallowing the bitter bile and his feelings and realized that the time for games was over. So he went for broke. “It’s complicated,” he hedged.

Dom chuckled as he dropped the bottles on the table behind them. Then he made an expansive gesture, as if he was going to offer all of Brazil one of those famous Toretto hugs. “We’re international fugitives with a drug lord and Uncle Sam’s goon squad chasing us. Doesn’t get more complicated than that.”

Brian volleyed back his own strangled laugh. It was a low, dry raspy sound that echoed bitterly in his ears and caused Dom to look at him askance. “Oh yeah, it can get more complicated. Trust me.”

“Then let’s figure out how to uncomplicated it, because I don’t want you and Mia at each other’s throats.”

“She plays dirty,” Brian muttered. The sting of his cheek was all the evidence he needed of Mia’s temper.

“I know. I taught her how,” Dom declared, grinning like the proud big brother that he was. Dom had always been supportive of Mia, except when his shit got in the way. Where Brian never had much of a family, Dom did and he loved all those that he considered family fiercely and loyally. It was a good trait to have if a kid was going to be in the mix.

The time for half-truths was almost over; just one more feint and he’d finally give some real ground. “I did something reckless, really stupid, and she lit into me.” Five fingers straight to the face as soon as Dom had been out of sight.

“Yeah, heard that smack across the warehouse. Wondered what you’d done to piss her off. Funny, you say it’s not that serious.”

Brian let Dom bridge the physical gap between them. Dom’s hand was heavy and hot even when compared to the sweltering air. Dom had given him the hit that he needed which sucked him back into the here and now. The nausea receded but the bile lingered on his breath, and Brian felt sober and steady for the first time in days.  “I’m not going to bullshit you and ask you if you ever think about the future. We don’t have time for that Mickey Mouse crap. We’re stuck in the past because I think we’re happiest there.”

Dom’s hand slid from Brian’s hip to the small of his back as he began to reminisce about his dad. Toretto Senior had been mythic in life, but in death, the man was beyond reproach; he was the veritable saint of Echo Park. “The entire neighborhood showed up for his barbeques,” Dom drawled on dreamily, “But everyone knew when it was time to clear out. Pops never missed helping Mia with her homework every night.”

Thinking back to his childhood left Brian with a bitter taste that was independent of the bile and digestively challenged components of dinner. He’d had his mom, Rome, and a few faces that rotated in and out of his life without making much of an impression.  His dad, unlike Toretto Senior, was a non-entity. “Mine took off on me before I could blink. So, yeah, not much I can say about his parenting skills. Some family’s worth not having.”

Brian relaxed as Dom’s hand began a slow slide up his spine. It was a gentle touch that one would associate with calming a spooked animal. “Lucky for you, family’s not all about blood ties. It’s also made up of those that stay.”

Sometimes it was. For a second, Brian thought he might throw up again. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and just listened to the receding thud of blood in his ears. When he no longer felt like he would decorate the deck below with chunks of partially digested rice and beans and spicy beef, he exhaled. Dom was closer than before, using his hand to anchor Brian to the moment. The longer Dom’s touch lasted, the more centered Brain became. The kid apparently had his (or her) ideas about how this should go and had decided to show its hand in the form of making Brian the victim of stomach roiling vertigo.  

Dom’s hand came to rest in the center of his back. “Talk to me,” commanded Dom, finally.

Because it was still hard to speak, Brian took that hand and drew it over to his left bicep. He dragged Dom’s blunt fingers over the exposed skin beneath his t-shirt sleeve. They held each other’s gazes until Dom’s brows began to knot, and he looked down at Brian’s shadow splotched skin. His expression grew tighter, more confused as he ran his fingers over the hard, foreign bumps protruding from beneath the skin surface.  

The silence between them extended its reach to mute the world around them, slowly leaching the clamorous drums and horns of nightlife to a dim whir like the mutterings of the scattered trees. But the thoughts rolling across Dom’s face spoke volumes in ways that Brian was completely fluent.

While watching Dom, Brian imagined that he was suddenly fifteen again and getting his implant for precautionary sake, because that’s what boys like him at his age did. Girls were lucky to have options: pills, shots, implants, patches—whatever, floated their boat. Boys like him—Carriers—despite being around since the dawn of time—continued to baffle science, society, and, from the look of thinly veiled disappointment and disgust on her face, his mother too.

Brian had promised then and there to be a better son, in not so many words, but he determined that this thing about him would be as much of a non-factor as getting a flu shot. He vowed to be less of a disappointment by doing better in school and trying to stay out of trouble (though trouble always found him). But some things he couldn’t change like being a defective reminder of the man who crushed his mother’s hopes and dreams. His mother hadn’t been a bad person; she’d tried and he hadn’t made things easy for her. There was no point in imagining what things could have been like had he been different. The past was over and done, but the future remained.

So as Brian waited for Dom to speak, he found that heavy, tumultuous feeling from before, crushing like the Charger weighing heavy on his chest, suddenly lifted. All that trepidation and angst was for nothing. The thought hadn’t been as spontaneous as it was decisive. Whether Dom was on-board with this kid or not, Brian would be. He’d snag the keys to the Nissan and go down to Tierra del Fuego if he had to, in order to get a fresh start. His mom’s mistakes wouldn’t be his too. His kid wouldn’t suffer from his mistakes. Not ever.

Dom’s fingers continued to trace Brian’s skin while sporadically snagging his blunt fingernails on the edges of the implant. Unlike some guys (re:most) who learned the truth, Dom hadn’t backed off or run off screaming yet. He looked thoughtful, Brian figured, which was good, because once upon a time during his time in uniform, he’d seen the aftermath of a few reveals gone bad. And if Dom had been inclined to take the news badly, then Brian would have risked scaling the balconies like Spiderman than attempting to tangle with him.

Dom looked at him again, without dropping his hand. He kept his grip loose, but his fingers wrapped around Brian’s arm proprietarily, solid and sure like a ballast. “So did Uncle Sam do that to you or did you fork over your cash for that?” Dom said, then paused and gave Brian a considering look. “I heard they last for years.”

“They do.” Most guys forgot about birth control until whoever they were with missed a dose. Brian then wondered how Dom became so astute about the issue. He had a sister of course, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d had a scare or two: maybe with Letty or maybe without. If he was suddenly jealous, then it was another thing Brian would add to the growing pile of shit that he was working through.

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped closer to Dom, “Forgot to replace it before we took off.” And there was the confession and he’d just let it fall like a stone.

It wasn’t the time to existentially debate whether he’d finally managed to live down to the world’s expectations. Here was a situation that couldn’t be resolved by switching from direct injection to electric fuel injection, and no amount of driving could carry him to an escape.

Putting two and two together came by way of Dom scrutinizing Brian’s mauled but full beer bottle versus his empty set. “That’s why you got a taste of Mia’s knuckle sandwich, huh? I thought you were crazy for liking the tuna, now I know you’re crazy for keeping this a secret.”

“Dom, look--”Brian interjected, “This is something I never expected to happen.”

“But it has.” Dom said flatly. It was too late to ask the obvious question about Brian being a Carrier. That was a confession too many weeks of driving and screwing across South American too late. “Neither one of us thought about bagging it up, so it is what it is.”

Brian didn’t answer. The tension in his body bled away and he relaxed his hip against the warm metal railing. “For what it’s worth, it’s still early, but I’ve already made my choice.”

He hadn’t expected Dom to laugh or the giant bear hug that followed. “Always the troublemaker, O’Conner.” Dom kept him close, pressed firmly against the solid line of his body without any indication that he would be letting go soon. “I guess Mia’s not the only one I should’ve been worrying about?”

The embrace is devastatingly tender, which wasn’t them, but was what they needed at the moment. Brian clung to Dom, absorbing his heat and the security that his arms offered. Electricity coursed down his spine in skipping jolts in response to each hot blast of breath that blew across his neck as Dom buried his nose in the crux. His lips slick with beer and lime travel the same path and when Brian tilted his chin down, Dom gave him a taste; his last taste of beer for months to come, so he savored the bite and all that Dom was offering with each curl of his tongue.

Brian smiled, pulling back slowly, “Not this time, Toretto.” That inextinguishable lust was set to a low simmer but gradually being stoked to a higher pitch with each swipe of Dom’s tongue over the spit shiny and swollen surface of his lips. “It’s my job to keep you on your toes, Dee.” That wasn’t a set of keys in Dom’s pocket pressing against Brian’s thigh. This was how they ended up with the situation at hand.

“Keep dreaming big, Blondie. It might take you places.” Like across the country or below the equator.

Dom didn’t ask permission as he lifted the hem of Brian’s t-shirt to reveal the flat slope of his as of yet washboard stomach. He stared like he possessed Superman’s x-ray vision. “You’ve gotten too skinny,” Dom murmured making a final deliberation.

“Running does that to a body. ‘s not like we’ve been standing still for the last couple of weeks.”

Dom nodded absently. “We’ll fix that. One hundred million can buy a lot of breathing room.”

Brian chuckled, “I heard that too.” He didn’t balk at Dom’s continued inspection, because this was a bombshell for Dom too. The complicated feelings never lasted long, always swallowed up the rising tide of fast action, competition, and natural attraction between them.

There were mountains of things left unsaid but they’d get to them eventually, painstakingly slowly as Mia said, but they’d get there. To realize that they understood each other at this moment didn’t require words.

Dom circled the hollow of Brian’s navel one last time before dropping the bottom of his shirt. “You’re making this surprisingly easy. I don’t have too many answers but I have some.” Brian knew a few things and truly just a few. “Seriously, no questions?”

The grin plastered on Dom’s face made him look like a big, carefree kid. It was rare sight that Brian could grow addicted to receiving. “What can I say? I’m not a total asshole to pull the Maury card and ask who’s the father,” he laughed, “do I need to?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay, then let me have this. Always figured I’d be someone’s uncle but not their dad.” Brian could agree. Having kids was like that nebulous idea of finding a patch of perfect endless road. He’d never wanted to be on this side of the birth equation, but if he had to have a kid, then making an O’Conner-Toretto didn’t seem so bad. To other people maybe—well, he’d let them keep their pain in the ass opinions to themselves.

He didn’t doubt Dom could be a good dad if he wanted to be. He’d had a good role model. They could be good at this thing once that got their shit together and stopped attracting crazy. He could already hear Mia agreeing.

On the same thought wave, Dom brought up the future. “We have hundred million up for grabs and a kid on the way.”

“Sounds like we need a plan.”

“Ideas?”

“A few. How do you feel about calling a few friends?”

Dom gave him a final squeeze before letting go. “Times like these are why you have friends.”

“Exactly.”

They had taken down drug dealers, evaded the US Justice System, and were planning to steal millions of dollars. Raising a kid would be a smooth quarter mile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Beyonce's "1+1".
> 
> Definition from the Biblical Dictionary.


	3. Don't know much about fighting (but I know I'll fight for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Taking the defensive position means striving to keep safe by resisting attack, watching over in order to keep safe, or keeping safe in the midst of danger, either in a single instance or continuously._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Beyonce's "1+1".
> 
> Summary from the Random House Dictionary.

III. (25 weeks)

Dom hated these trips. _Before_ he hadn’t, now he had reason to feel otherwise.

It was Brian who first dropped the suggestion that didn’t sound much like a suggestion at all. Then Mia took up the idea and did her thing: adding up the upsides, the downs, and all the rational minutia that he sometimes failed to see. Brian didn’t mince words about his going, because they both knew why Dom had to step out of the shadows of Santo Domingo and make his rounds exposing his face elsewhere.

So when Brian said, “Go, it’s okay. Mia and I got this,” and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and did that thing where his shoulders tensed and his hands settled too heavily at his sides, because he was still self-conscious about touching his middle in broad daylight; Dom relented and just went.

Now here he was in Cartagena.

He had gotten here by way of hopping a freighter to Costa Rica that cut across the thankfully non-choppy Caribbean Sea which had just entered the throes of hurricane season. When Dom ended up in Costa Rica, just a ways outside of Limon, the first thing he did was see a man about a car. For a few grand, a couple favors done, and some macho bullshit swapping, he ended up with a  sweet ’76 Chevy Laguna with a patchwork paint job that had a sturdy V8 fast enough to give him the edge on most things (practically everything after some tweaking) and reliable enough to get him down  to Columbia and finally to Cartagena.

In San Jose, he found a garage for rent and a bony criollo kid everyone called Pablito Chiquito, who could find parts and paint like a hound on a foxhunt. The kid gophered for him for a few days, waiting for the chance to collect his hard earned cash and snap up the added bonus of a fixed scooter engine that amounted to little more than a couple of greasy belts attached to a noisy kickboard. The kid was a hustler, and hustle, no matter how small, translated in any language. 

If playing Marco Polo Latin America Edition was Brian’s idea, then the decision to end Dom’s micro-tour in Cartagena was Mia’s, with Brian seconding it. Not that he gave a resounding endorsement but he agreed Dom had to do this. Play Where’s Waldo every once in a while so the Feds didn’t get a clue and look too close to home, especially with them being practically on America’s southern doorstep. The point of these duck and run games wasn’t lost on him, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. But Brian and Mia thought this was for the best and he would do anything that was necessary to keep their family safe.

It was an incredible thought— _their family_ —one forged by blood, loyalty, and incredible accidents. A concept so simultaneously new and old that it felt tattooed into every fiber of Dom’s being. Why? Because Mia was his sister and Brian had never been a complete stranger—not when he was a cop or a Fed or now as his _Baby Daddy_ , Dom thought with a sardonic smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.

Dom adamantly blamed Pearce for his knee-jerk response to call Brian that. Since learning the news, Pearce had been all over Dom like white on rice, even though Dom had changed burner phones six times in the last eight weeks, Pearce always managed to find him. Each call or text featured a piece of unnecessary and (unsolicited) wisdom from the Roman Pearce Book of Parenting, Parroting, and Pushing Limits. How Brian and Roman Pearce could remain best buds for so long, both intrigued and vaguely perturbed Dom like seeing a sideshow curiosity. A bearded lady. A three-legged dog. A yellow Yugo.

Pearce’s antics aside, Dom had priorities to take care of, which was why he played these games, and crossed continents and international boundaries more often than most people went to the gas station. He had Mia, who was her own woman, more than capable of taking care of herself and, more often than not, took care of him and Brian.  Then there was Brian who acted like he didn’t need anything. Not even when he was absolutely green around the gills: nauseated by just about everything, except the briny smell of sea water and motor oil, and incapable of keeping anything down except ginger infused drinks and crackers as bland as communion wafers.

But Brian was Brian. So easy and head smacking against a wall painfully difficult most of the time.

This spread of weeks had been kinder, less sick inducing and more energy boosting but still carried a fine cost. During the day, Brian tended towards explosive bursts like flickering sparks kissing kerosene; his temper flaring and rising to the surface faster than a spike of NOS  injecting an engine at a buck-ten.

During the early days of Brian’s garage ban, Dom had narrowly missed a wrench to the head for some stupid reason or another. He’d yelled then, finding his own shallow well of patience thorough tapped and spent on Brian’s hormonal bullshit.

It was easy to be swept up in the memory as the bright solar coronas widened and blazed in the southern hemisphere sky with the same familiar intensity of home. Cartagena, Santo Domingo, Rio, L.A. were all the same and exponentially different. Life’s living colors had all been intensified and skewed as he moved from place to place. But the physical hooks that pulled him back were never dulled.

* * *

A wrench.

Brian had just chucked a freaking wrench at him.

A volley of heated words flew across the garage wilier than a spray of bullets, resulting in marginally more direct hits.

Dom remembered sweeping his gaze from the tossed wrench to Brian, who was as close to huffing and puffing as Dom had ever seen him. “Cut the bullshit and calm down,” Dom demanded.

Nostrils flaring and face fury flushed, Brian snarled back, “ _Fuck you_ , stop trying to tell me what to do.” Everything, from his eyes to his tight supercoil of his body, dared Dom not to test his resolve. To get his back up even further. “Back off,” Brian snapped.

Dom was too worked up to let Brian’s fit of pique go. He knew better, knew the source of Brian’s tempestuous ire but sometimes the itch to fight couldn’t be ignored. No matter how empty the premise, sometimes fights begged to be fought, and this one was practically gagging for it.

 So he began to close in on Brian with slow, deliberate steps. 

Dom rallied, saying, “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t acting like a fucking psycho. It’s just a goddamn song. Chill out.” Minutes before he’d been mumbling the lyrics of a Biggie classic, ignoring the narrowing of Brian’s gaze until the wrench went sailing by and clattered on the floor.

Anyone else would have backed down at the flatness in Dom’s tone. Not Brian. Never Brian. Because no challenge could go untested.

“Chill out? You want me to _chill_ out? Then stop screwing with me.” Brian stabbed the air angrily, eyes flashing with a magnitude of rage reserved for a rabid dogs and volcanic eruptions. “Stop. Trying. Me. Or I swear I’ll--”

Dom breached the span of the garage with a few heavy strides until he was in Brian’s space, almost nose to nose. “Or you’ll _what_?” He stressed in a voice so low, he could see Brian bristle and shiver in one breath. “You threw a wrench at my head,” Dom stated, pointing angry at the volleyed tool, “Ya just did that. If someone’s going to be pissy, it’s me for almost getting my skull cracked open over your out of whack hormones.”

There were no more words.

Brian bobbed his head stiffly as if answering some unspoken question and his eyes burned like smoldering sapphires as the innate ice that lived in his veins took over. A heavy silence passed in the thick of a few tension laced seconds. Then Brian took a step back and another, then another until he turned, striding out of the garage.

“Where you going?” Dom shouted after him, watching as Brian crossed the small patch of grass surrounding the house until he reached sand again. “Brian!”

When Brian had gotten the keys to Challenger, Dom didn’t know, but they were in Brian’s hands now. Brian jerked the car door open, angrily, shot Dom a one-fingered salute, and sneered back, “This is my what,” then peeled out with arcs of angry sand flying in his wake.

Dom would have chased him, could have done so until he realized the keys to the Nissan were also missing and Mia was off in the city with the _Tías_.

So he waited.

And simmered.

And waited.

And calmed.

And waited.

And worried.

The sky grew darker as the sun began to set. His worries came to the forefront of his mind when the house sat empty save for him and his thoughts. Suddenly, he was being overtaken by a sea of regrets, each more damaging than the last and each new wave massive like tsunami crests battering away at all his excuses for getting angry and screaming back.

He knew what all of this was about. Why Brian’s cool seemed to melt at a drop of a hat these days.   Brian couldn’t help it, not really, because the books Mia forced on him said so. It was like driving with someone controlling the stick and Dom was more than partially responsible for the hijacker—or hijackers—that kept jerking Brian around and lighting his fuse.

Dom knew Brian was made of strong stuff. Knew that it would take a helluva lot of pressure to break him, but the fact remained that he could be broken. And the thought of that _but—s_ ome random occurrence or premeditated action—nearly drove Dom to hotwire the Nissan and hit the streets.

If anything were to happen while Brian was out there…

He didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate some awful scenario before making a decisive move for the door.

Finally, Dom had reached that point, the one where his pacing and stubborn resolve to let Brian come back on his own was overrode by his resurgent instincts that demanded to know that Brian was okay. If this led to a thorough inspection that used all five senses to their fullest, then, hell, it was worth it for the peace of mind and the possibility of Brian flipping his shit again.

The dimness of the living room was interrupted suddenly. The beams from the Challenger’s headlights cut into the interior of the cabana as his hand cupped the door jamb. There were a thousand ways this could go. Dom could easily throw open the door and charge onto the porch to resume round two of the battle of wills. Another option was waiting, which seemed hard as hell to do but he’d already begun a slow and steady backpedal, swinging the door open as he went.

Brian was already waiting on the other side.

If his breath staggered and skipped a beat, then the blame rested on finally _seeing_ Brian again. Seeing him so deflated and cautious as if he wondered if he could come back, like the option would be somehow closed to him. Skittish like wondering if Dom had called the whole thing off while he was gone and would force him to go for good this time.

Dom gave Brian a wide range after indicating with a cant of his head that it was safe to enter. His little nod saying— _It’s safe. We’re cool. Thanks for coming back. For coming home—_ and Brian took his time coming inside, uncertainty lacing his steps. Sometimes Brian seemed like the coldest person alive when riding a tide of calm concentration or rolling on waves of fury. At others, he was like this, almost fragile—brittle like a fall leaf, and vibrating as if stuck idling, only to fly off at the smallest change in the breeze.

That was the stark difference between he and Brian.

Dom could cut and run in order to live to see another day.

Brian cut and run because it was one of the few options in his life that he had never failed him.

That was the epitome of fucked up and Dom couldn’t have that. Not for Brian. Not for his babies. Not their family.

So he took action by orbiting Brian from a distance but close enough to keep him centered, distracted and under the protective field of Dom’s eyes.

Dom watched Brian wash his hands, afterwards grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Then Dom swung into action, needing to channel his energy and focus towards Brian without pushing too much. “You hungry?” He inquired as he stepped into the kitchen, already picking through the options, resolved to satisfy one need in regards to taking care of Brian. “We’ve got that fruit Mia found in the market. Or the yucca. Some rice and some steak I could throw on the grill? A little bit of whatever.” Because Brian’s appetite was extremely very fickle.

“Dom, I’m fine—good, just thirsty, okay?” Brian finished the bottle of water and took the second one Dom had immediately retrieved for him. “Thanks,” he said.

After that, they didn’t talk much, not really, because talking had never been their strong point. But they stayed within sight of the other. When Brian made a move towards elsewhere, Dom followed closely on his heels until Brian went to their room.

This span of moments was a lull for them—not quite easy but not nearly as trying as before. As Dom observed Brian from the doorway, he saw how plainly Brian was exhausted.  Just worn out. He took his time swooping in; allowed Brian to toe off his shoes and shuck most of his clothes except for his shirt and shorts.

This close Dom could look his fill. He could smell the faintest hint of sweat and sand on Brian’s skin. Of course Brian had ended up on a beach. It was Brian’s second home after a garage.  The inspection continued as Dom moved in closer, now comparing and contrasting spikes of memory to the man before him.

At twenty-five weeks, Brian’s face had finally managed to lose the startling sharpness he’d carried since Dom’s sentencing.  Brian’s features were still undeniably chiseled, as always runway ready, now just the slightest bit fuller—healthier even. He wasn’t as smooth as the baby-faced detective masquerading as a surfer boy with a thing for cars who had slipped into Dom’s life like a lost missing nut to a bare bolt.  But he looked younger, beautiful as always, and inexplicably more dangerous, because he had something precious to protect.  

Dom telegraphed his intentions by stopping Brian from stripping down further. If he chose to continue, then Dom planned on helping him. Brian relaxed under Dom’s touch, the tension in his muscles bled away slowly until he was pliable enough for Dom to grasp.

Because Dom had adjusted to Brian’s moods (mostly), he saved hugs for the daylight, as they were brief and unsubstantial meetings between bodies. At night or times like this, he reserved the right to hold Brian; just draw him near and gather him into the circle of his arms and keep him as close as their bodies would allow. Get him as close to his heart as he could.

Now Dom held him against his chest and let his hands explore, his lips planting a calming mark on his forehead, down his neck, and back to his lips that were the faintest bit dry.

Dom pulled back, concern again, “Drink,” he ordered, offering Brian the bottle of water. Dom watched Brian’s throat work until the bottle laid drained. “Good?”

“Yeah.” Brian still looked tired, so Dom pushed him to shuffle backwards.

“C’mon,” he said, “lie down.”

Brian went down on the bed and drew Dom with him. Dom’s dark brows crept up as he gave Brian a questioning look to make sure that Brian realized what he was asking for.  Brian’s eyelids were fatigue heavy and barely hiding those indescribable baby blues. He was on the cusp of falling asleep but his voice was firm when he did answer. “Get in.” He blinked once, then twice, so close to losing the battle. “Can’t sleep with you hovering like that.”

Dom would go to him. “Need anything?”

“Just you,” Brian exhaled tiredly. To Dom’s ears, Brian’s words sound differently—more insistent— _need you, want you, we need you_ —which drove him to climb in.

So Dom stripped down to lie beside him. “Where’d you go?” He asked.

Brian’s lashes fluttered rapidly like a neurotic hummingbird’s wings as he tried to brush back the tide of drowsiness. “Everywhere and nowhere. Just up the beach. I hung out at the cantina at Playa Caribe.”

He’d been practically within arm’s reach. Had he stayed so close waiting for Dom to come for him? Dom’s searching look was answered by Brian’s startlingly alert stare which said he wouldn’t have been welcomed if he’d dared. Brian would have only gone farther the next time.

Side by side, they resumed their state of easiness. He could appreciate what they had after days like this and he wanted more every day. Dom had realized just how much he wanted it once they’d been forced to be far apart. Brian was complicated and hard and perfect for Dom’s sharp edges.

Tired and lazy, Brian allowed him to hover, to inspect properly and satisfy all his burgeoning paternal instincts. Not that Dom ever would be completely satisfied. As much as Brian bucked at being taken care of, Dom had a duty to protect him and their babies. Even animals fought to the death over their mates and their cubs; Dom wouldn’t do any less for Brian and theirs.

To get more comfortable, Brian tugged his shirt over his head and sent it flying across the room, so that it now resided in some vacant corner. He was still skinny, Dom noted. His shirts were too baggy making him look even smaller, giving him a look of all shoulders and nothing else. But stripped down like this wearing one of Dom’s tanks which were loose above the waist showed just how thick he’d gotten in the waist. The cotton stretched tight there.  Beneath the cotton surface though, Dom knew the skin was soft and round with a faint line starting from the ring of Brian’s navel traveling downwards below the band of his shorts. Everyone (Mia and the doc) and everything (books, books, and more books) said it was normal, which Dom accepted. He just took it as proof that this was happening. To them. Together.

When he too fell asleep, it was on his side, his body curving around Brian’s as his hand rested on the swell. Beneath his hand, they danced and kicked and told Dom about their adventures and made promises to never stop making him sweat.

Most nights, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.  

* * *

Days later, Dom contacted a friend of a friend in Caracas and got his hands of a semi-legit passport the following week.

The week after, he was on a new continent.

* * *

Cartagena served three purposes: it’s small enough for him to be noticed by the right people, big enough to get lost in if the wrong people showed up, and close enough to Venezuela where he doubted Hobbs or any other Fed would dare to tread.

He went four days before a tricked out Land Rover, outfitted like the armada in Rio, began to follow him through the cobblestone streets and crazy byways teeming with vicious cabbies that all had the right of way in Old Cartagena.

Dom left the traffic behind for the open air of the market. The market afforded him the opportunity to see his tails in the flesh, if they were brave enough to approach him and provided about a thousand routes of escape. He suspected that it wasn’t the guppies chasing him today. Something about the boldness of the pursuit put a signature on who was following him.  He figured it was the big fish.

As he’d waited, Dom watched the _palenqueras_ walk the market square with baskets full of fruit perched on their heads with grace. Their broad hips swinging in time with the chants married with African words and bastardized Spanish colored the air. Time felt frozen as their songs twined through the stalls, riding on the rhythms of drums and flutes and hundreds of years of melded history.

Dom ventured over to a stand where a palenquera decked out in the Columbian triad of yellow, blue, and red displayed her fruit and handmade knickknacks proudly. A pair of woven dolls—small, holding hands with big smiles, bright eyes and dark curly hair, struck something in him. She smiled at him, her smile contrasting against her smooth ebon skin and he smiled back on reflex.

“¿Te gustan?” She asked, waving her hands over the full collection of her wares.

And he did like them. “Si, ¿cuánta cuestan? _How much?_ He wanted them because they reminded him of the past, the present, and the future which he was actively trying to shape.

“Siete,” she held up seven fingers and he agreed, nodding.

Then a shadow appeared at his side. “Never took you for the arts and crafts type, Toretto.”

“Guy’s gotta have some secrets,” Dom snorted, handing the beaming lady money before she moved on to charming Hobbs. “I’m sure you’ve got a few.”

Hobbs appeared to examine the same collection of dolls that had caught Dom’s eyes. “Mmmm,” Hobbs hummed, almost thoughtfully. “Maybe or maybe not.” He inspected one cloth doll up close. It looked as ridiculous in his hands as the ones in Dom’s big mitts. “You’re a little far from home,” he noted, dryly.

Dom rounded his gaze over the crowd, looking for any of Hobbs’s gun happy groupies. “Home? I haven’t had one of those for a good while. I think you’ve got me confused.”

Hobbs looked at Dom over the rim of black shades. His teeth flashed in a grin reserved for cats trapping small rodents. Dom wasn’t anyone’s plaything and stonewalled him.

Grinning, Hobbs barked out a laugh as he went for a cloth black bull with a little gold ring in its nose. “See, I don’t think that I do. You keep popping up all over Latin America like a big, bald herpes sore and no one can figure out why you keep breaking out.”

According to Dom’s count, there were at least three guppies swimming with Hobbs that day. “But you did.” Maybe four if he could get a better read on a lady sitting near one of the eastern city walls in a floppy hat. “Makes you special, huh?”

“Of course, I’m here, ain’t I? And I did some interesting reading on the way.”

Dom took another cautious sweep of his surroundings. “Yeah? Can’t say I’ve done that much lately.” His routes were still holding up under guppies’ spread in the crowd.

“No? I thought you would’ve. Or maybe I mistook your… _attachment_.” Hobbs picked up another doll outfitted in a flowing dress with rainbow bursts of color like the _vendedora_. “Took me a while to decide if it was your sister or O’Conner you were sticking your neck out for.” He put the second one down and returned his attention to the little bull.

“And?” Dom asked calmly, blocking out any hint of restlessness he felt from penetrating his voice. “What do you think you’ve figured out?”

Hobbs smiled brightly at the palenquera, after making the doll do a small shimmy in his massive hands and pointed to the fruits in her tray then forked over a handful of bills that were way too much for what he bought. She could have kissed him when he waved off her attempt to make change. She gave him a few extra slices of melon for his generosity.

Hobbs swept his shaded gaze about rather than turn it directly on Dom. “What I know,” he stressed, “ is that your sister and O’Conner haven’t had a thing for years  and I doubt they’d try to pick up where they left off with you hovering in the background. As for you and O’Conner--”He took giant bite of melon and wiped the juice that escaped from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. “The bridge sealed it. You looked ready to kiss and throttle the hell out of him when he came back for you…But I didn’t take it too seriously, not until after.”

After? Dom remembered the bridge and their deal exceptionally well. Though the thread Hobbs swore he had wasn’t sticking it out. “Don’t keep me hanging, chief. Spill it.”

Hobbs savored another bite. “Your boy’s a Carrier and I’m guessing you already knew that at the time or maybe you’d just found out.”

Dom remained silent.

“So the way I see it is you’re popping up to keep us from finding home base and the rest of the merry band, Robin Hood, which is all well and good.” He chucked the striped rind. “It’s fine with me. That is until we finally start looking at maps and triangulate the sightings with known associates. Then we may…or may not find home base, and that won’t be good for you. That’s when I’ll call game over.”

The threat was there, and Dom raised the stakes with a counteroffer of his own. “If you want me, try to get me. How about now?” Dom knew how Hobbs operated and the man wasn’t above playing dirty to win. No one, Hobbs included, would use Brian or Mia as bait. Dom could run as long as he needed to if it kept those on his tail from straying anywhere else.

Hobbs dared to pat him on the shoulder as if they were old buddies. Dom wondered if he hadn’t hit him hard enough when they tangled for Hobbs to think better of keeping his hands to himself.

“See you’re the big fish and maybe you get away today, but you won’t be much help to your sister and O’Conner if we made a grab for them at the same time. Since O’Conner should be rounding out major fat boy style and won’t be able to pull off those roof top stunts from a few months back, I think we both know who the slow antelope is on this savannah.”

No, just no.

Despite the explosion of colors across the market and the endlessly mingled blue sky and sea, Dom only saw one color: red. “Go near them and the deal is off and you won’t have to worry about coming after me,” he sized Hobbs up from head to toe pointedly, “because I’ll be coming for you and I know you don’t have a hook big enough to reel me in.”

That patronizing smile that Hobbs continued to wear begged Dom to knock it off his face. “I’d love to try but I’m not one to tear families apart. You go down, then sis and O’Conner do too, and the kid will have nothing, which just ain’t fair. It’s not right.”  Taking a surprise turn towards empathetic.

“Glad you think so.” Dom’s wariness wouldn’t ease until the distance between him and Hobbs was reestablished or one of them was knocked out cold on the ground, preferably Hobbs.

“Buck up, Toretto. You’re in a country with beautiful beaches, beautiful women,” he cut a cheeky grin at the old woman, who smiled back with the wavering cheeks of someone blushing hard, “that part may be lost on you but you can find plenty of other ways to stay out of trouble.”

Dom cut his eyes at Hobbs and deadpanned, “Didn’t cha hear? I gave trouble up for Lent.”

Hobbs barked out another burst of obnoxious laughter and literally slapped his knee as if Dom had made the world’s funniest joke. “If only, Toretto, if only.” He gradually sobered.  “Things would be much easier.” He handed over the cloth bull to Dom. “Keep your schedule open. I’m thinking some renegotiations may be in order in a couple of months.”

Dom looked the bull over. The thing was cute in an ugly as sin kind of way. He couldn’t be too sure that Hobbs hadn’t planted a stealthy tracking device on it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“The same thing as the other ones—give it to the kid.”

It was Dom’s turn to smile, he held up two fingers to give Hobbs an accurate count. “Still don’t know everything. You’re one off.”  

Hobbs whistled through his teeth and shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously, two?” Dom might have grinned proudly.  “Well damn, you two don’t do anything the easy way, do ya? I guess I should say good luck then, but I won’t really mean it anyway.”

“I know.”

“Stay sharp, Toretto, because I’m far from the only shark in the water.” Then Hobbs stalked away. For a man his size, he disappeared into the crowds circulating near the old city walls in a blink.

There would always be sharks, Dom considered. Though he loathed admitting it, Hobbs had just done him a solid by giving him a warning. Without much effort, he could name a shark or two who might look for an opportunity to get close.

He considered leaving the bull behind but thought differently as he returned to the Laguna. The thing was still two shades past ugly but it was another anchor to home, despite his words to Hobbs.

Dom started the Laguna knowing he had only had one option left. He’d find the Laguna a good home and say goodbye to Cartagena. He was going home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Tias_ : Aunts
> 
>  _[Palenqueras](http://www.flickriver.com/photos/tags/palenqueras/interesting/)_ : Colorfully dressed women of African descent from the town Palenque de San Basilio,who sell fruit and sweets while carrying large bowls balanced on their heads in the markets of Cartagena, Columbia. They are an enduring symbol of African heritage in the New World and slave resistance. 
> 
> _¿Te gustan?_ : Do you like them?
> 
>  _Siete_ : Seven


	4. Aint't got nothing but love (you got enough for the both of us)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harmony is sometimes a pleasing arrangement of parts or practical combination of events._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Beyonce's "1+1".
> 
>  
> 
> Summary taken from the Random House Dictionary.

III. (36 weeks)

He thinks a lot about his mother these days and often wishes he had been a better son.

Brian gets like this at night mostly, because his internal clock has been flipped, switched, and thrown off pace. Up until ten weeks ago, he could burn the candle at both ends, bounce from the garage to the beach to the Tías and any new place in between without breaking a sweat. Then he hit the last stretch, and, boom, smacked a wall of resistance and lethargy and just general suck.

He feels more like a vampire than anything else. Eyes falling shut often as soon as the sun rises and remaining stubbornly open when the moon is highest. At night when the air is cool enough to sleep unencumbered by old indiscretions and haunting possibilities, he can’t shut his eyes for too long.

Because _they_ won’t let him.

They know how to keep him running without any peace, not quite redlining but just. And Brian knows he did the same thing to his mom and figures this is just karma moving in full circle.

Getting out of bed these days is like watching a slow ship turning. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t just keel over and capsize the mattress the moment he finally gathers enough momentum to fight the invisible force of gravity. Somewhere moored to this thought is a point of irony, because the one to lose most from Brian’s battle with gravity would ultimately be Dom. Who can sleep like the dead while Brian fights his way up to pee for the millionth time a night or take a walk due to a case of gnarly heartburn. But let one little foot thump against Dom’s hand or side and he’ll come awake faster than a firecracker during the _Reyes Magos_ parade.

“It’s okay,” Brian says aloud to the wind. Because it’s just him, the slow even sway of the porch swing, the silent cars, the murmur of the tide, and his _bebitos_ along for the ride to keep him company.

He exhales a soft sigh, not the sound of being overwrought, just a tune set on tiredness, and takes a hearty swallow of ginger beer. It’s not Corona but it calms his nerves and better yet, his stomach. Tia Marisol swears by it and furthermore claims it’s the secret to getting through a Toretto pregnancy.  Tia Rosa, on the other hand, claims that Bisabuela Claranita’s recipe for chicharrones is all he needs to get the _bebitos_ settled. The solution is somewhere in between and totally far off, he finds.

But Brian uses this time to chill. Despite the acrobatics taking place around his middle, he can sit still and just be. Not worry about any hovering or constant offers of help or forgetting that despite the money, they’re not entirely safe. It’s obvious that they haven’t moved on because of him. At twenty-eight weeks, around the time that Dom was coming back from one of his reconnaissance trips, Brian popped—went from a slightly paunchy looking surfer’s bod to full on swallowed beach ball.

Of course things changed for them then because the situation finally appeared far more, well, real. This thing between them is complete; it’s three-hundred and sixty degrees of brand new life and they’re still adjusting to it and figuring it out, figuring each other out, and trying not to make a mess of it before it really gets started.

Brian keeps a running list of the things his parents never taught him and adds to it every day.

“Sometimes you gotta talk it out. Even when you don’t want to. Sometimes just because,” he tells them and gets a small poke in the side for confirmation. “‘S gonna be harder than it sounds, because you guys got it honest.” Stubbornness. Reticence. Never-impulse control problems.

Dom’s anger like all the Torettos, Brian has learned, is loud and billowing, explosive like a volcanic eruption and just as damaging. His fury is like Brian’s though—cold, sharp, and bitterly seething. The on-going weeks have been a test for them, one where Brian’s hormones tapped into his wellspring of shallowly hidden frigid fury and caused him to fly off (literally) into directions unknown for hours on end that had led to a couple of arguments and a flying wrench that one time, because Brian will never like being told what to do.

For someone so used to people just doing what he says, Dom has a hard time learning to negotiate and make concessions because Brian is really fucking stubborn.  Dom should have been used to Brian doing the opposite of whatever Dom says at this point because he always does. Leave him to the cops—No. Leave him for Reyes—No. Take some time off from the garage—Hell no.

But they are trying and are getting better.

The next thing he’s about to say makes him laugh. “Always listen to authority, unless they give you a reason not to.” He has a hard time with this and Dom doubly so. The _bebitos_? He’ll be lucky if his hair doesn’t turn white by the time they’re five.

Vince is convinced that they should be named Delinquent and Defiant, and Brian is surprised Vince knows such big words. The world is full of many certainties: he and Vince will never be BFFs, water is wet, and if he, Dom, and Mia are top priority wanted fugitives, it’s a safe bet to wager that his kids won’t be anyone’s little angels but his own.

The ginger beer has a sharp, spicy, and clean taste that can almost make him forget about the bite and headiness of real beer. Almost. Without alcohol, he can reflect without bias on the beauty around him. Santo Domingo is amazing: beautiful sky, beautiful beach, and beautiful family. Maybe Dom is rubbing off on him these days, because the word falls too easily from his mouth. Brian has had to learn how to not get his back up every time Dom drops the word, lately about him it seems, in casual conversation. Hell, the Tías and by extension, all the primos and primas, call him _Lindo_ because Tia Marisol took one look at him and decided to rename him and it was so.

Hardly anyone calls him Brian, save for Dom, Mia, Tego, and Rico. Somehow being called _Pretty_ comes as less of a blow when said in another language. The name still carries a sting, but the way the Tías say it, it’s obvious that it’s not meant to hurt. Brian thinks of it as a love tap and is grateful that it’s family that is giving it to him.

He used to fear being called pretty. He’s gone through more than his fair share of fights over it and hated himself because of it and his status. Brian still worries about a lot of things; being pretty is the least of them.

He admits another truth. “You’ll be beautiful.” This he knows. It’s not a touch of arrogance, just another statement of fact. Dom’s a handsome man, Mia is gorgeous by all standards, and he’s several long walks away from being hideous. It’s been decided summarily by the Tías again, all seven of them and not genetics, that they should have his eyes—ojos azules.

But Brian has other thoughts “His eyes, guys.” Because he’s always been a sucker for big brown eyes and Dom’s get him every time.

Just the thought of two pair of big dark eyes on tiny faces, and he’ll be done. His resistance to anything and all things crumbling as he imagines them. He can forgive Dom anything and for them, he’ll be a goner.

“You’re never dating. Hell will freeze over first.” Which is more than likely if he has his way.

Some days, he deals with the prospect of being a parent better than others. Other days, he worries that the wild thing that lives in his blood and soul will act up and make it easy for him to just cut his losses and walk away. His old man did it once upon a time, why shouldn’t he?

“Life’s hard even when it’s easy,” he says, remembering one of the few lessons his mom taught him that stuck. “Especially when it seems easiest.” He’s got about ten years of memories and decisions at the back of his mind and none seem as easy as he remembers, and he knows as the _bebitos_ stir restlessly that things to come will be happier but never easy.

There’s a disruption from inside the silence of the house. The footsteps are just heavy enough for him to know that it’s not Mia coming to check on him. Even through the dark, she moves with the gracefulness of cat and can soundlessly sneak up on anyone like a ghost. It’s Dom’s heavy steps that are always decipherable no matter how quietly he tries to travel. In his mind’s eye, Brian can see him navigating his way through the sparse living room with the aid of memory and not a single light with the same ease as racing through Braga’s tunnel.

Since they’re learning how to be together, Dom’s learned the hard way to not sneak up on Brian when he’s asleep and Brian knows the same for when Dom’s quiet and distracted and lost in his thoughts, seemingly a thousand miles and years away. Dom may grab or squeeze too tight in those moments, but Brian sleeps with a gun under his pillow because Hobbs, Reyes, Braga, Verone, the Trans, and too many other skeletons in their past are still up and walking.

So Dom calls out a soft, “Hey,” before stepping out onto the porch.

Brian notices he bothered to throw on one of his tanks instead of coming out in just his long sleep pants. Dom takes up his post against the rail across from Brian, his arms folded over his chest, watching. His innate protectiveness won’t let an opportunity pass without him checking on Brian and making sure he’s alright. Brian lets him have his way most of time, but Dom’s learned to read the subtle cues and not cross some boundaries when Brian’s having a bad day.

Despite knowing the answer, Brian apologizes, “Sorry, if I woke you up.”

Dom probably reached out for him, found the other side of the bed cold, and came awake listening for the sound of his shuffling feet.

Dom waves him off. “You alright?”

Brian shrugs, “The usual.” And it is.

“Need anything?” Dom offers, ready to move at Brian’s word.

Flashing the nearly empty bottle at Dom, Brian shakes his head. “Naw, I’m good. Figured being out here was better than tossing and turning in there.”

Dom nods affirmatively in an indistinct rhythm, knowing well how fitfully Brian tended to sleep. Most nights, Brian has to lie on his side, limbs vining around an armada of pillows. Dom’s grown used to Brian’s pillow thievery, put up with it because it’s been a constant struggle for Brian to find a comfortable spot for more than an hour or two when he can sleep. A jealous thought has strayed across his mind once or twice but Dom gives up the idea each time he woke up to Brian playing boa constrictor with him.

Since Brazil and all the shit with Hobbs, they’ve always shared a bed. Sometimes, when Dom’s gone, Brian will sleep beside Mia, just sleep, because the _bebitos_ settle when there’s someone else near. This isn’t a movie; they haven’t shared some great heartfelt exchange or declared their undying love for each other. They care about each other more than a little and oscillate between the balance of romantic love and eternal friendship. As they’ve always done, they’ve found their balance, found what works for them, and just ride it out.

“It was Pearce that got me up,” Dom admits with a small scowl. “Decided to get a jump on his daily check-in.”

Now Brian smiles wickedly, putting his smile on full display. “Yeah? What words of wisdom does he have for you today?”

Dom whips out his phone and taps open Rome’s last piece of advice on fathering and raising kids. For a dude who doesn’t have any kids, his advice isn’t actually awful most of the time, but he manages to annoy the shit out of Dom on a daily basis which makes Brian laugh so hard his sides hurt for once  while not being constantly kicked.

Dom can do an uncanny imitation of Rome’s voice, which only serves to crack up Brian’s shit even more.

So Dom reads, “No pix, Big Poppa?  I’m feeling hurt and neglected.  Make sure Bri gets a good focal point, if y’all are doing this the old fashioned way. My sexy mug will definitely make thangs easier.  Tell Bri to use that cocoa butter. Helps get that sexy back. Moms told me so.—R.”

Brian has tears streaming from the corners of his eyes as he shakes with laughter and Dom is no better. The mysterious case full of jars of cocoa butter now has a sender. He knows all about cocoa butter from Rome’s long diatribes about ashiness prevention but he hadn’t been aware of how it applied to cases of non-dry skin. His cheeks still burn hot thinking of Mia’s extremely forthright explanation.

“Your boy--” Dom trails off laughing.

“—is trying to be a good uncle. Don’t hate because he’s being enthusiastic.”

Dom rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that and then some.” Rome isn’t everyone’s type of dude but since Brian came clean about his status and the impending delivery, Rome has been nothing but super supportive like a goddamn cheerleader. This support has manifested as Rome frequently annoying the shit out of Dom from a thousand miles away.

Rome never cared about Brian lying about being a Carrier. His arms ended up slung around Brian, almost squeezing the life out of him as he chanted that he was going to be an uncle. May have even used a part of his cut to get a blinged out chain with the word ‘Uncle’ encrusted in stones, if Tej wasn’t pulling his leg.  

Rome isn’t the first guy to be an uncle but he’s one of the most excited.

Brian turns another easy smile Dom’s way. “Better be nice to me or I’ll sic Rome on you, Big Poppa.” It’s an old joke now. One that may have precipitated the wrench throwing incident but now they can laugh about the name. Just as Rome’s excited to be an uncle, Dom’s infinitely more ready to be a father.

He may have heard Dom hum the translated bars of Big Poppa one too many times before he snapped.

 _Amor de I él cuando me llamas Pop-pa grande)_  
Conseguiste un arma para arriba en tu cintura no tiras  
por favor encima del lugar (porqué)  
La causa I considera a algunas señoras  
esta noche que deben ser havin mi bebé

Now, it’s an old joke.

“I’m always nice,” Dom replies, grin and eyes going soft as he stares at Brian’s stomach. “Sure you’re okay?”

Brian nods.

Since riding in a car isn’t as fun when he can’t drive and something is inevitably throbbing or swollen, Brian finds it’s easier to just wait for Dom to come back from one of his trips to see the family.  Ultimately, a mountain of food is sent his way—tostones, habichuelas, arroz, carne asado, all delicious and sent lovingly from one of the Tías.

Speaking of which, Brian almost forgot about Tia Cristina’s, who everyone called Cha-Cha, last offer. “You bring me Tia’s chicharrones?”

 “Yeah, you want ‘em?”

He mulls over the thought. “I’m good. Maybe later though.”

Then they resume their easy silence. Dom will remain outside with Brian until the latter’s eyes begin to draw heavy and the weight of sleep settles over him. Dom never rushes him, finds that he’s willing to move at any speed Brian sets, and be content to just be there.

Brian returns to his thoughts while watching the rolling of the black tide while Dom returns to watching him. He’s used to this now: Dom watching him.  Once looks between them had been a form of communication that only they could understand; other times Dom inspects him like he’s a puzzle that he can’t quite figure out, and sometimes, it’s bigger and hotter and strikes at Brian’s core so hard it makes him melt. Now it’s softer and still guessing but intrigued or excited, now it’s Brian who can’t figure out which.

This was the only time of day when Dom could look unabashedly at Brian without having his hands inevitably pushed away. Brian has accepted that this is happening before Dom but he’s still having trouble dealing with it.

Brian doesn’t bring up the reason Dom’s abandoned playing Where’s Waldo, the Live Action Version with Hobbs these last six weeks. Probably won’t until Dom broaches the subject.

The night of Dom’s last return, he’d been on the cusp of hard won sleep when he heard Dom come in, and the house, which is by no means a shack, is small enough that even the faintest whispers carry across the walls. So he listened.

Dom rapped his knuckles against Mia’s door, the sound echoing inside the hollow frame. He was just stopping by to say a quick goodnight.

“Food’s in the fridge,” he pointed out.

Mia snapped her book shut none too harshly. “Good,” she decides, then after a beat, declares more staunchly, “You owe me.”

 “Yeah, what happened now?” The amusement’s clear in his tone.

And Mia’s exasperated eyeroll could be felt through the walls.. “What hasn’t happened?” She said in a furious whisper.  “This is hard for him and he’s still dealing with it.”

Brian didn’t want sweet words; he was all action and reaction. “You have to be here, Dom. Not just idle, you have to stay.”

“I am. I’m tryin’.”

She nodded solemnly. “I know. It’s just…Dom, time’s winding down.”

“I know and I’ll be here for the rest of it.”

“Make sure you tell Brian. Explicitly. Don’t do that dumbass thing you’ve been doing where you assume the other knows what you’re thinking.” That one time when their silent communication system had failed them had resulted in a spectacular—historic even argument.

Dom grunted, “Yeah, okay.” Some things were easier said than done, and, at times, the less said to Brian the better. “He asleep?”

“He got tired of waiting for you, so he turned in. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He would need it.

The memory is too heavy for Brian and suddenly he feels this urgency to get up, to just move. But as always, once he goes down it will be hell getting back up.

Dom springs into action without a word, offering his arms to pull him up. Brian scoots to the edge of the swing and levers himself up using Dom’s arms for balance. The third time he tries, he finally makes it to his feet and ends up pressed front to front with Dom.

This is that moment where they’re eye to eye, lost in each other, with infinite sensations running through them beneath the bright full moon. Dom strokes the back of his neck before burying his fingers in Brian’s curls at his nape and drawing him forward. It’s a small brush of lips to his forehead so soft and sweet, those tears from earlier threaten to return just because.

So he returns the gesture, lips on lips this time and enjoys the way Dom licks his lips and sucks off the lingering stickiness of the ginger beer. He stiffens slightly and Dom’s hold grows tighter.

Before Dom can get the question out or Brian can offer reassurances, he drags Dom’s free hand down to his belly. The reprieve has been short lived: the acrobatics have resumed.

Dom’s fingers skim over the surface of his stomach as the fluttering kicks and turns begin. “Feels like they’re swimming,” he smiles, begins rubbing the expanse of t-shirt covered skin. “Has it been like this all night?”

Brian shrugs, snagging his lip on his teeth. It doesn’t feel bad but it still feels weird. He doubts he’ll ever used to the feeling of sharing his body with someone else like this. “Off and on. More on than off.”

The light touches continue, and Brian goes with it. They’re not _gentle men_ , he and Dom. They’re capable of tremendous violence and carnage—L.A., Miami, Rio are all evidence of that. But here and now, they’re so easy with each other that Brian can almost forget that Dom’s hands could destroy a man with moderate force behind them.

 Brian needs a lot now, even if he won’t ask for it and Dom just gives him whatever he wants, because he can and doesn’t make him ask. Dom’s even freer with his affection now and Brian soaks it up like a sponge, constantly thirsty and greedy for more.  He leans into the touches and absorbs it all like some overly indulgent cat. In the past, he gave himself permission to greedily indulge in just being around Dom—soaking up his presence. Now he was collecting all the physical residuals.

Dom’s hand doesn’t let up when the action subsides. He’ll continue his exploration until Brian shifts away or tells him to cut it out.

He starts smirking now, proud as a fucking cock on a walk. “Two for one. I like those odds.” Brian watches as Dom marvels at what they made, accident or not. That there is a double shot of him and Brian baking below the surface, soon to be sprung by all accounts.

“You would like this since you’re riding shotgun and I’m doing the heavylifting.”

Dom’s lizard brain is super attracted to Brian like this. The books he’d read said that Brian would be the one to experience a hormonal surge so high he could reach the stratosphere, but it’s Dom that wanted to constantly touch, taste, and feel. Maybe that’s why Brian only let him do this at night.  Because Dom will find himself looking at Brian sometimes, thinking, “yeah, I did that”, and fuck, there goes the rest of the day.

“I’m helping to navigate,” Dom jokes, even if it comes out a bit flat. “We’re almost there,” he says, “Almost.” Maybe it’s the usage of ‘we’ that causes that shiver up his spine or maybe it’s a slight head rush, but Brian leans into him and decides not to press further.

They don’t do anything by halves; that’s why they’ll have twins. Brian’s huge and uncomfortable but every time Dom looks at him, he only sees amazement. Like one day, he’s flat as a board and the next he looks like he swallowed a pair of dubs.

During the day, with Brian sleeping like the dead and snoring like an old muffler, sometimes Dom can touch without getting turned away. Dom could run his hands from the now fleshy jut of Brian’s hip up the slow, steep incline of his belly to reach the apex. Sometimes he will leave his hand there on the newly compressed innie to outtie belly button. The contrast between hard and soft blows his mind.

Almost, he thinks.

“Got your keys?” Brian asks, because he’s too awake to sleep and too tired to stand.

Dom pulls them out of his pocket and dangles them from a finger. “You wanna ride?”

“Yeah, it’s better than standing or sleeping.”

Suddenly, a look comes across Dom’s face and it’s like he’s somewhere else. “My Pops used to…”Dom stops and Brian wakes the wave of memory sweep over him. He settles his hand over Dom’s drawing him back into the moment. “...some things never change, “he concludes and leads Brian off the porch and down the steps.

Brian hasn’t driven for weeks. First, because he drives too fast and secondly, because he stops being able to fit behind the wheel of the Skyline. They’re taking the Challenger tonight. Through trial and error, they’ve figured out how to maneuver Brian into the car since he isn’t so much heavy as he is unwieldy. 

The hemi brings out different reactions in the three of them. The _bebitos_ get a steel and electric infused lullaby. And Brian gets something else that Dom willingly and eagerly takes care of.

When the urge comes over Brian, Dom is always game. Maybe it will be tonight; maybe it won’t.

 In bed, it is a matter of finding a comfortable side or getting up on their knees or Brian climbing aboard, sitting astride him and setting the pace. Those are the nights Dom likes the most--when things aren’t quite easy but they are good. Brian smiles more in the dark, less self-conscious and prone to reining himself in. In the dark is where Brian lets Dom touch until he’s satisfied; savor all the moments to build a kingdom of memories for dark days and nights.

The moon slides lower as they drive. Eventually, it will slide away and the sun will return as Brian finally returns to sleep. Dom will keep them moving, keep his guard high to protect the family, and he’ll make his own list of things that need to be said. He drives with one hand on the wheel and one anchoring him to Brian and the _bebitos_.

There are names to choose, places to move, and decisions yet to be made. They have time. They have a few weeks yet. Until then, he’ll keep his eyes ahead and think of the things his dad taught him.

When Brian falls asleep, Dom’s voice goes quiet and low like summer thunder inside the car and he begins. “Family is first. Always and forever.”

The sun starts to rise.

They’re almost there. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's my headcanon that is somewhat supported by V.D.'s short film [Los Bandaleros](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpmncFKiXy0) which takes place before Fast and Furious, that Dom and Mia have this huge family in the D.R. And a major reason Dom heads there to lie low from the law.
> 
> On this side of the family, I've always assumed--Papa Toretto's--are, like, nearly dozen crazy aunts. So when Brian and Mia join Dom in the D.R., Brian goes from zero-family to far more relatives than he can count. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Los Bebitos: The Babies  
> Bisabuela: Great Grandmother  
> Tías: Aunts  
> Reyes Magos: [Three Kings Day](http://www.miamiherald.com/2013/01/06/3170097/three-kings-day-celebrated-today.html)  
> Chicharrones: Pork crackling or pork rinds  
> Lindo: Pretty  
> primo/prima: Cousin  
> ojos azules: Blue Eyes  
> Big Poppa by the Notorious B.I.G Lyrics in Spanish: [Spanish ](http://www.musica.com/letras.asp?letra=937929) / [English](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phaJXp_zMYM)


	5. We ain't got nothing ( you got enough for the both of us)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A miracle is an event or an occurrence at once above nature and above man, or showing the intervention of a power that is not limited by the laws either of matter or of mind; a power interrupting the fixed laws which govern their movements._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Beyonce's "1+1".
> 
>  
> 
> Summary from the Biblical Dictionary.

V. D-Day, Plus 3 Weeks

Rome held the baby in his arms like he’d been doing it for years. All gentle confidence and strength settled into the curve of his elbow and bicep, cradling their charge with more care and tenderness than Brian had ever seen him exercise in regard to anyone or anything.  His smile was blazing white, like the stars glowing in his eyes as he looked down at the baby nestled below. For a second, Brian wondered who this person was who had stolen his oldest bro’s body and face, because it couldn’t be Roman J. Pearce cooing over a baby like some 50’s doo-wop singer.

“I’m your Uncle Rome. Yes, I am,” he crooned, softly. “And I’m gonna be the one to bail you out of jail. Oh, yes, I am...Aha. Oh, yes, I am.” He sang to the baby who blinked up at him owlishly.

It was only natural to laugh, but Brian managed to exercise some control over the involuntary action and barely wrangled it down it to a hearty snicker. Because Rome holding a baby—Brian’s baby—was epic. Rome making a total fool over himself—absolutely priceless.

The fact remained that Brian had a series of stitches it far too many sensitive places that continuously tended to remind him that he wasn’t free and clear of the last thirty nine weeks. Each attempt to laugh or move beyond the speed of a snail was met with the snug snap and pull of his too many to count sutures, which liked to punish  him with lightning bolts of pain that snarked _you had a baby, idiot. Screw it, babies, dumbass_.   _Sit down your ass down and chill out._ The voice sounded a lot like Dom.

Careful was the word since _D-Day_ —careful with the babies, careful with his stitches,  and careful handling the new road he and Dom were taking…

Brian knew he should move from his perch, maybe trade the shade offered by the low sloping awning on the back porch for the quiet interior of the house. But he was comfortable and unoccupied; an occurrence that he was sure would become rarer and rarer still so he would enjoy it while he did.

Compared to the front of the bungalow, which had sparse patches of an obnoxious variety of crabgrass and sea oats, the backyard was all green—tall palms with waving fronds and grass thick enough to tread over barefoot like a carpet. Bits and pieces of lawn furniture: plastic chairs, sturdy loungers, a couple of tables, and an extra-long picnic bench had found their way to the back over the course of months and had all been put to work this afternoon.

Once the grill had been set up, the space morphed into a passable facsimile of the backyard in Echo Park, and the cookout that afternoon could have been one of the many Brian had been to with too much food, beer, and someone taking liberties with the grace.  There were no supplications to the Car Gods that day; just thanks given to the regular one for far too many blessings to count.

Brian had watched Dom watch him back. Dom hadn’t been in charge of grace, that honor had gone to Tia Yisena, who had enough age, sass, and alpha gravitas to school Dom for years. But Brian read Dom’s thanks as they marched from his silently parted lips, exhaling, “ _Family. Life. Freedom.  Friends. Love_.”

Brian couldn’t have said it better.

The lights that Tego and Rico had strung across the entirety of backyard glowed and twinkled like a nursery rhyme breathed to life. Wasn’t that something, Brian noticed, drawing his eyes overhead. They outshone the real stars, which had just begun to settle into the late twilight sky.  Verbal acrobatics aside, they’d still done a good job.

Over the past year and a half, Brian’s Spanish had gotten better, had actually gotten quite good, but he still had no idea what the hell they were saying most of the time. Today, the topic of their latest tête-à-tête: _dem babies_ , as Rome would say or yell excitedly before bumrushing just about anyone to get to his niece and nephew.

Tego and Rico had come in, all high spirits and with hugs and slaps on the back for Dom and awkward one-armed embraces for Brian. Their verbal ceasefire had lasted just as long as it had taken for them to look at the sleeping pair. This was one of the rare moments when neither Dom nor Brian nor Mia had one or both in their arms.

Rico hovered over the yellow bassinette outfitted with smiling cars with perfect white sets of teeth while Tego held position over the green bassinette decorated with smiling trucks. The bassinettes were from Tej, who though closer than everyone couldn’t close up shop and flash the deuces to his new inner circle to hop a puddle-jumper  from MIA to cross the Florida Straits to reach the D.R. for a couple of days. The bassinettes were a gift and an apology.  The car and truck motif was a play on Tej’s sense of humor while the colors were all Mia’s doing.

When asked about the color choices, she’d gone for pure boldness and no pulled punches. “None of that macho ‘pink is for girls and blue is for boys’ bullshit.” She pointed at the two bassinettes. “My niece and my nephew. Mine. And we’ve got one shot at this, so I’m not letting anyone--” _Them_ “Screw them up or stunt their potential. Got me?”

He and Dom nodded in acceptance. Or submission. It was hard to tell which.

Mia rarely cursed. Of all of them, she was the real class act. But times like this reminded them all that Mia was as much a Toretto as Dom was and was definitely one hundred and ten percent his sister.

“Wow, your mouth, Mia--” Dom started, only to be silenced by the sharp slice of her responding glare.

“Excuse me, if I have a lot of feelings, okay.” They all did.

That one shot she’d talked about was all Brian had thought about lately. So he’d let the conversation die, deciding it was safer to yield to Aunt Mia’s infinite wisdom on the subject. Then it was back to everyone doing their best imitation of a human-pigeon and coo over _dem babies_.

Rico took a decisive look and stood up, declaring, “Se aparecen a Lindo,” He circled his fingers around the circumference of the little faces, indicating every detail in those little chubby features, according to him at least, that were all Brian.

Tego shot him an incredulous look and began shaking his head like he’d just learned of some terrible injustice that couldn’t go unanswered. “Ay, carajo, ¿eres ciego o eres baboso? Tienen un poquito de lindo por ahí,” he said, pressing his forefinger and thumb together to demonstrate how little. “Pero el resto, Chan, es todo Dom.”

If Rico disagreed more, his head would have flown off his shoulders as he shook it like an angry bobblehead. “Tu ta pasao!”

“Vete pa carajo, manin.” Tego waved him off, dismissively.

Then it was on.

Mia pushed them out the backdoor before they could really get amped up. Brian had only caught bits and pieces of her stern dressing down but he did hear her hissed threat that was an uncanny intimation of Dom’s gravelly pitch, threaten, “You wake ‘em and I’ll make sure you never sleep again.” Because they were on the doorstep of never sleeping again and every minute of wail-free silence was valued more than gold.  

He looked at Dom, who shook his head and shrugged, too punchdrunk on happiness to care, “Aunt Mia Bella to the rescue, right?”

“Right.” Brian agreed.

Now the house was almost empty. Well, not quite, because Rome, Vince, Rosa, Nico, Mia (who also lived there)  and a handful of assorted distant relatives, some as distant as Mars  if the explanation of the family tree were to be believed, were still hanging about, taking turns passing the babies around and admiring their admittedly enormous adorableness.  Swelled pride was Brian’s M.O. these days. Hell, because he was largely responsible for that oh-my-god-too-cuteness.

They were fraternal twins. Basically, the equivalent of blood-related roommates sharing the same tiny efficiency that happened to be inside Brian’s body. Despite what the doc and the books said, they looked exactly alike until the diapers came off. Then the differences were evidently clear.

The noses were his as were the eyebrows that hadn’t completely darkened up or filled in. The wide, soft pouty lips that already looked sure enough to take on the world were Dom’s. The eyes were his surprisingly, though Brian was holding out for the natural infant blue to fade and soften to sable brown. Cheeks so full and chubby could belong to either of them. Only time would tell.

Brian tracked their action. His cop instincts to observe and report as keen as ever as he watched his boy pass from Rome to Mia and back to Rome. While his baby girl, already a princess in Dom’s eyes, remained quietly at ease against his chest.

  They were safe. They were fine. Brian could snuff out that simmering drive to do more than see. Everything was brand new, all parts of it. Never before had he ever desired to be so close to anyone; even with Dom, he had his limits. With them, there were none.

It was all winding down.

The afternoon had been the result of an in(formal) invitation being offered to innumerable members of Clan Toretto and all their friends who’d popped up on the island as Brian began to near the finish line. It had been the sign that so many had been waiting for, though most of the Tias hadn’t needed it—hadn’t given a damn about when they showed up to lay eyes on the newest members of the family.

The front door had never seemed to close as new drop-ins on the new parents and the cutest babies in all the island were seen.

In the last four hours, Brian had been hugged and kissed by more tias, tios, and primos than –-one) he knew Dom and Mia had, two) had cheeks that were now on the verge of carrying the perma stain of Bliss and Blush #47, and 3) had survived being on the receiving end of a firing squad of well-intentioned parenting advice that all pushed him towards unintended information meltdown.

Now at the start of the evening once again, Brian had slipped off deep into his thoughts; this time of day always serving to offer him a meager escape. The yard was the emptiest it’d been in what felt like days.

Just the few they counted as the closest members of their family remained: Rome, Vince, Rosa, Nico and Mia.  

Rico and Tego had left earlier, each with one of the younger Tias, closer to Dom’s age, on their arms. Through some convoluted circuit, Tego and Rico’s relation to Dom had been explained; making it clear that neither belonged to the same side of the family as the Tias they’d been escorting home.  It was a minor relief, given how complicated things tended to become in their little microcosm of the world; the last thing they needed was for things to take a turn for weird.

Dom stood across the yard with Vince, who used his clutched bottle of beer to emphasize his points.  Like Rome, he had a bundle tucked into the crook of one of his giant arms that had not stirred as he listened to Vince’s inevitable grumbled speech.

Nico had taken one look at the gifts sent by Han and Giselle and had claimed the pair of mini-cars for himself. His attention had whipped from the red kid Ferrari to the blue Mustang faster than his chubby legs could carry him.

Brian smiled as Nico, who could barely walk, pushed the limit on the battery operated cars, pushing the speed upwards of an impressive ten to fifteen miles per hour. Rosa followed his reckless loop around the yard which had claimed several chairs, a table or two, and at least, four pairs of ankles as his victims.

The kid was all speed and no finesse. Like father, like son, Brian supposed, because some things were just in the blood.

Vince had been remarkably civil towards him, damn near nice, which had to be freakier than pod-person-Rome. If having a baby was all it took to make an asshole less of an asshole, then Brian figured it was a decent perk to a still wholly terrifying experience.

Mia caught his eye from her position at Rome’s shoulder. She’d been flitting back and forth between anyone who’d been holding her precious niece and nephew. 

She steered Rome over, who followed gingerly. Despite an infant in his clutches, he suffused his steps with even more swagger, making Brian’s baby look like a hot accessory over the course of the short walk and climb up the back porch steps.

“Enjoying the show?” Mia asked, cutting her eyes in Rome’s general direction.

“Absolutely amazing. Seriously, my mind’s, like, blown.” Brian smiled. “You think you’re up for babysitting, cuz?” He asked Rome, who leaned on a porch pillar and wasnonce again in deep communion with the kid.

Rome raised an imperious eyebrow. “Me and Lady Killer Miniature are just communing about the fine points of life. See, my boy here understands what it’s like to be on lockdown and is just enjoying all his newfound freedom, ya dig?”

Mia laughed, “My nephew can’t even hold his own head up but he’s bonding with you like his long lost best friend.  Sometimes, I can’t even...” Mia said, now almost bent in half from laughter.

Rome dished a Mia a half-hearted glare. “Yeah, whatever. Y’all are just jealous that my man here knows a class act when he sees one. Ain’t that right, Knucklehead?”

Oh no. They weren’t going there with the nicknames, because very few turned out to be endearing rather than just plain stupid.

“Zing,” Brian buzzed. “Try again. This time something less…stupid.”

“Man, see--” Rome said, directing his words at the baby again. “This show of disrespect is just the beginning. Don’t let anyone punk you, Knucklehead. Make sure you tell your sister that too, Princess Peach.”

Sighing, Mia moved in to cut into Rome’s bonding time. “I’m not touching that one.”

Mia had been on a roll in calling everyone on their BS. “Really?” Brian asked skeptically.

“Not with a pole or anything else,” she decided. “You’re looking a little lonely over here. You want ‘em back yet?” She offered Brian.

“In a bit, yeah.”

He’d had almost ten months getting to know them. It was only fair that others did too.  It was a constant battle to deal with the rising swell of selfishness that reared its head every time one of his kids was passed off to someone who was not him.  Even though he could see them just fine, he wanted Dom’s bundle and Rome’s. Just in front of him and nowhere else, because only then could he feel like the world wasn’t on the verge of some cataclysmic precipice.

Rome was almost ready to surrender his new buddy to Mia but not before he finished sharing more of his nuggets of knowledge. “Just remember: Uncle Rome’s the one who’ll get you out of trouble.”

A loaded look passed between Mia and Brian. The amused tilt of his head offered her the opportunity to respond but ultimately she backed off. Some things were too easy, like busting Rome’s chops.

Brian had no qualms about taking the low road, so he went at Rome and teased, “ Uncle Rome, huh? Sounds like the name of rib shack in the middle of nowhere. _Uncle Rome’s Rib Shack and Hub Cap Heaven_.” He illustrated between his spread fingers.

Mia laughed.

Rome scowled while mumbling a litany of colorful aspersions about Brian’s parentage and the state of his dick. Then he looked down at the green bundle. “Uncle Rome’s gonna be nice, aha.” He nodded, grinning again. “I’m not gonna slap your daddy so hard, you end up less pretty, ‘cuz then you’d look like your other daddy more than you already do and that would be too much pretty gone to waste.”

Brian snorted and exhaled a series of sarcastic chuckles. “You’d have to, you know, move fast for once if you wanna catch me.”

“ Word on the street says you ain’t going nowhere fast, Frankenstein.” Ouch. Literally, he’d just felt the pull of his stitches as he moved to swat at Rome’s head.

Mia swooped in, slipping the still sleeping baby from Rome’s arms faster than a striking viper. “Alright, hand over my nephew. You lose your baby privileges with cracks like that.”

“Whatever, I know jealousy when I see it.” Rome beamed at the baby once more. “No worries, Knucklehead, we’ve got plenty more deep conversations to come.”

“You better not be teaching him about shitty paint jobs and left-handed clutching.” Brian warned.

“Chill out, Father Knows Best. Me and nephew were bonding over the fact that I’ll teach him how to get all the honeys when he’s older. Cuz Uncle Rome’s got all the charm.” His expression now was a somewhat charming mix of a smirk and a leer aimed at Mia.

She rolled her eyes. “God help him then.”

Mia didn’t hold him long. Rather she passed him back to Brian, dismissing his attempt to give her more time. “I can bond anytime, but you need to hold your son.”

His son. His daughter. The thought was still unbelievable.

Brian reached out for the baby, taking him into his arms. His nervousness bleeding away the moment the small weight was in them again. “Welcome back, Sonny Boy.”

The kid knew Brian’s voice, dipping his head closer to the origin of its sound like a seedling searching for the sun. But Sonny Boy wasn’t his name. Not really. There was power in a name. Whether he was known by O’Conner or Spillner, cop or criminal, there was enough power there to shape the direction and course of all the paths that could possibly be taken. He’d started teaching those spare but important lessons during the test lap before any of the important people had shown up and time had begun to move so quickly. Sonny Boy and Princess Peach would be free of the burden of their names—free which was the only thing that mattered since the universe set him and Dom on this collision course.

The name was an heirloom, he guessed. Something his mom had given him that Brian could share. Tiny fingers began to fidget and twitch inside the swaddling. Then the almost bald eyelids fluttered softly, opening to stare at the source of the familiar voice.

Yep, still blue. The coltish blinks showed that the color was still very stubborn in lingering.

Rome helicoptered his eyes from Brian to Dom and back, his smile loose and satisfied once again. He was so proud as he grinned, “Seriously, man, these babies…I, mean, dem babies are like the deluxe model of babies—cute, quiet, smart, and awesome.”

Busting Rome’s chops was something that Brian would never grow tired of. The game of one-upmanship was a constant like the sun rising in the east or as loathe as he was to admit it, muscle always beating rice, he and Rome would push each other to up the ridiculous factor. Now that Brian had a kid—two, in fact—Rome had been challenged to do better; even if his Dr. Spock childrearing advice was a nifty trick like driving backwards through rush hour traffic (that one time), he had yet to find his trick to answer Brian’s thrown gauntlet. 

  “They grow out of that.” Brian assured, still keeping the steady countdown to babies’ first real meltdown in his head.  “Not the cute part, just the quiet part.”

Of course, Rome disagreed. What else was new? “Not these two. They’ll be top of the cute charts for a long time. That is until nature decides to gift y’all with a few miniature Roman Pearces. Then it’s game over, everybody go home.”

Mia exhaled, laughter expelling her throat like spent air. “Hopefully, that’s a long way off.”

“Rude.” Rome sniffed, borderline indignant. “Y’all can keep oppressing my man here while I’ll going to liberate the rest of those ribs before the familia comes back for seconds.”  He held up his closed fist solemnly, saying to the sleeping infant, “Stay strong, bruh. I’ll spring you and Princess Peach when I can or when the ‘rents start being all kinds of inappropriate.”

When Rome peaced out, he left Brian, Mia, and Sonny Boy to a void of soft silence.

Mia’s eyes swam from Brian to the baby and back again with steady caressing strokes. He knew what she was going to ask before she did.

“Mia--” Brian started.

She cut him off with a final wave of her hand. “Please. Just please let me do this.”

There was no point in denying her. She would only enact her brother’s methods for dealing with unresolved problems in one of three ways: hovering, smothering, or beating them into submission physically or emotionally.

 “You okay?” She finally asked.           

“Yeah, good. Better actually.” Because he was not nearly as sore or peaky as he had been.

Brian could count his greatest hits—literally: having been shot, stabbed, and flipped-smacked-tossed around in a couple of rolled cars. Each time able to walk away eventually.  But this was the time that almost got him—bloody, screaming, and half-crazy out of his mind.  No one talked about the pain or how bloody it was, but Brian could. Would he? Probably not. Because that was the nature of sacrifice.

She was reluctant to believe him. “Ok,” she said with much reservation. “If you’re sure.”

Brian knew a thing or twelve about deflecting attention from himself. He’d been a UC for over a year when the hijacking case fell into his lap and triggered the chain of events that resulted in all the inelastic collisions—of choice and action—that had led to this very moment.

So he jostled the kid, intentionally but soft enough to keep him quiet, and diverted Mia attention from him to Sonny Boy. “I’m sure.”

The way she stared at the baby was nothing new. They were all caught up in them: their newness, each subtle responses that showed some glimpse of them, a cry,  or their smell. God, their smell was everything. More intoxicating that new leather or premium grade gas. It snaked through the senses sinuously until it settled into the brain and punched the buttons for memory, emotion—oh, lovelovelove, happiness and fear. It was a natural force more potent that the surge and suck of a tidal wave.

Mia stared down with tears beginning to glisten in her eyes, wonder blooming in bursts over her face. “I can’t believe they’re here. Just look at ‘em, so precious and perfect.” Nearly a year ago, they were in Brazil, running hot and hunted, haunted like they could feel the walls closing in on them and then this. Mia had been the steady one throughout; not Dom for his muscle and apparent strength and not Brian infamous for his cool.

“They’re a miracle. You gave us a miracle.” Mia always believed in miracles while Dom and Brian believed in luck. Brian didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.

Dom’s influence had rubbed off on him as he started to call her Mia Bella in a soothing tone. That was Dom’s name for her, though while close as two people could be platonically, it never felt right on his tongue.

“ _We_ did it.” He amended, having no qualms about sharing the team work or giving praise where praise was due. Because it had been a team effort.

“I guess we did.”

A year ago, a few stray thoughts like reeds in a stream had popped up, making him wonder about this. About taking a deliberate path with Mia and finally unmooring his hitch to Dom by settling in with her. Some things were not meant to be. From the moment he’d met her, Brian knew Mia was destined for more and deserved it too.

She believed in miracles, hopes, and dreams but was surrounded by people who crashed through things as a part of living. He wouldn’t—couldn’t break anymore of hers.  There were times like now, when he knew that she would fight until there was no breath left in her body or whoever’s that dared push her if it meant keeping the twins safe, and he wished that he could have loved her as she deserved.

Damn Dom.

Damn him.

For never making anything easy.

“You said we can’t screw ‘em up. I’m for just a little,” Brian said with a cocksure grin, “screwing up. Like five to ten percent only. Because it’s a thing that builds character.” He added and smiled winningly.

As she shook her head laughing, the black cascade of her hair fluttered on the breeze, ends furling like raven wings. “Not if I have my say.” Which she would. “Did you hear that from Rome? Because I can tell you I think that assumption is totally false.”

“There’s always a little truth even in the biggest lie.” That they both knew.

“At times, yeah. This, however, is too important to--” she stopped suddenly, collecting her thoughts. Mia cut him a sideways grin and started to chuckle. “Who am I kidding? We’ll make it up as we go.”

Brian nodded, grinning again from ear to ear.  “That’s more like it.”

She exhaled an exaggerated overwrought sigh. “I guess my work will never be done.”

“Would you have it any other way?” He asked genuinely, grateful for the smooth transition in the conversation.

“Never.” Mia took a quick scan around the yard and noticed Vince coming their way. “Be nice. They came a long way and he’s the twins’ godfather.”

Brian too spotted Vince prowling towards them after making a pit stop by the coolers for another beer. “Yeah, he is and that was Dom’s doing.” Since Dom was godfather to Vince’s son, it was only right that he be the same for Dom’s kids. Though Brian could think of a few others he would rather raise his kids if something happened to them. Wolves maybe? He kidded.

Dom got Vince as the godfather and Brian got Rome, who was the closest thing to a brother that he had as an uncle for the twins. Fair was fair, but somehow the exchange still felt uneven as Brian eyed Vince climbing the porch to invade their little corner of the world.

“Hey Mia, Brian. Um, Dee said he needs that thing with the feet on the blanket. The Princess, um, is starting to get cranky.” From the porch, they could hear the low whine that split the air like thunder in the distance signaling the brewing of a storm.

His Sonny Boy was still unawares but not as deeply asleep as Brian had hoped. The bridge of his nose twitched and if his sister started voicing her complaints about the establishment, he would certainly be right with her keeping up in the _we’re totally pissed and will damn well let you know it_ chorus.

“It’s on--” she started and trailed off as the Princess’s cry took a turn from slightly irritated to pissed. “You know what? I’ll just get it and take it Dom,” she said, standing from her position beside Brian.

Her dark eyes quickly swept over the pair of men. As if memorizing this exact moment for future reference when the pieces had to be fit back together. They looked back at her with as much innocence as a kid caught with cookies around its mouth standing over a broken cookie jar.

“Be nice,” Mia warned, pointing at the two of them then the baby.

They spoke over each other answering:

“Always.”

“Scout’s honor.”

She slipped through the backdoor. The screen door shutting with a soft snick behind her.

Vince turned to him and snorted, “Yeah, you would be the one to wear the short-shorts and neckerchief.”

Brian rubbed the side of his face with a single finger, cutting a razor sharp smile Vince’s way. “Naw, bruh, I think you’ve got me confused with your mom.”

A beat passed before they broke into whispered snickers. Vince took a fresh pull from his beer and accepted the barb good-naturedly.

“Good one,” He nodded.

“Thanks, I try.”

Brian and Vince were two people not meant to mesh. They weren’t quite natural enemies like cats and dogs but they antagonized each other with the fierceness of bitter rivals. First for Mia, then for Dom. Now where they stood years after their first ego and blood fueled introduction was on a fine line of truce. One forged by circumstance and dogged maturity.

Vince kept his gaze on the sweaty neck of his bottle before raising them as he began to speak. “It’s not often I’ll admit I was wrong but I was.”

That must have hurt. “Feel that?” Brian said in all seriousness. “I think the earth moved.”

The glare Vince aimed at Brian wasn’t even half-hearted, just old habit. “Asshole,” Vince coughed into his fist. “Who would have thought the Buster would still be ‘round after all this time?”

Vince toasted him with the remains of his beer. “Certainly not me. Had you pegged for plenty of other stuff. But not this--” he drawled, tilting his chin at the baby.

Neither had he truthfully. “You always said I was a cop.” Either a damn good guess or he had some potent deductive reasoning skills. Dom hadn’t believed him which still stood as a thorn to Vince and boon to Brian.

“I was goddamn _right_.” Vince snapped, loaded with a six years’ worth of entitle self-righteousness. “Everyone else ate up your Malibu surfer boy bullshit, but me. Nope, I’m all ‘bout calling a spade a spade or a pig a pig…Pig” He snarked; now one for one with Brian on barbs flung between them.

Brian caught sight of Mia hustle to Dom with the aforementioned blankey sleeper thing with built in feet and casually watched as they tried to get Princess Peach bundled and settled.  “I’m glad no one listened to your barking,” he threw out offhandedly.

The responding smile reached Vince’s eyes. “Me too.” Which Vince meant in all sincerity. “Guess we needed you around when the shit went sideways. You weren’t as useless as I thought. Who would’ve thought the poseur would hang ten off the side of a semi to save my scruffy ass?”

“Saving your tail hadn’t been on the agenda either. But what can I say? I might have been shit about following the rules, but some cop things I’ll always abide by, even if it meant saving _your_ scruffy ass again.”

“Don’t worry about my ass. I’m retired. Worry about your own if Dom gets bitten by the bug and wants a whole pit crew of his own.”

Now it was his turn to act like he had a bad pair of shocks instead of the muscles in his neck. No, he mouthed. “Nope, shop’s closed.” He would never forget his implant as long as he lived. If any more accidents were to come their way, then they had better be of the vehicular kind. “Out of business. Done.”

He wasn’t one to admit defeat but this was one time where he felt the sudden turns and changes in course had outpaced his ability and willingness to keep pace. The blood and pain component was almost nothing in comparison to the rollercoaster his emotions took which fishtailed and drifted from extreme pole to pole.

Still, the end results were worth it. Sonny Boy and Princess Peach gave new understanding to having an apple in one’s eye. He could only stare again.

Vince took a rough swallow, which seemed to sober him. “You won’t want to let ‘em out of your sight.” He voiced as Brian watched the baby. “Just consider yourself a head case now,  cuz everything involving them is gonna make you crazy.” His voice became heavier, his rasp more deeply embedded like it had been wrapped up in concrete and was now laid to rest.

A lone brow cocked as Brian decided to prod Vince’s turn for the serious. “You’re owning up to being a clingy parent? Never would have expected it.”

Vince reeled back. “Goddamn right, I am.” He pointed his beer hand in the direction of the toddler who’d almost clipped Rome’s shin as he rounded a narrow turn between a couple of chairs and a table heavy with food. “He’s mine. Nothing is as important as him until the day I die. Rosa and me will always make sure he’s safe... Happy, maybe, too. But life ain’t all puppy dogs and rainbows. Shit happens and I’m gonna have to teach him how to deal with it and get things done.”

If a time came where he must stand at a crossroads with arms spreading in infinite dark directions, Vince would make sure his kid could pick one and move.

So very true. “That’s deep, man.” Brian admitted.

Vince dipped his head. “Yeah, and if I’m bad about my kid, Dom and you will be a shit ton worse.”

“Dom sure. But I think I’ll be the cool dad.”

“Yeah, right.” Vince downed another sizeable swallow of beer. “I can call bullshit cuz I’ve seen the way your eyes have tracked anyone who’s come within each sneezing distance of your kids. Let alone allowing them to be passed from hand to hand like big hot potatoes—you look green and it ain’t the pain killers either. It’s because you want to hold ‘em but are scared you’ll break them, though that won’t stop you from getting them close again. Close will never be close enough when it comes to them. Even when they’re being little shits.”

It was eerie how well Vince knew Brian’s true thoughts and the desires he stubbornly tried to fight. It was surreal to hear and receive sound advice from a guy he’d once described as a junkyard dog in human form, but Vince was right. No longer did he worry about the urge to run; now it was the desire to hold and cling until every inch of useless space was occupied and his doubts were suffocated.

“Especially when they’re little shits. That’s when I’ll love ‘em the most.”

“Exactly.” Vince finished.

They spent the next clutch of minutes treading over lighter territory. They shot the shit and engaged in a less enthusiastic version of the verbal sparring between Tego and Rico, as crafty insults flew loose (Brian) and drunkenly (Vince) as time passed and settled into night. They didn’t talk about the beginning any more than they already had to; each recognizing the significance of that time for what it was and how it played into the lives they had now.

It was well-earned yet razor-tipped respect that they had for each other. When Vince said,” Congratulations, really,” as he, Rosa, and Nico were heading inside to bunk down; Brian knew Vince was sincere and accepted the offer graciously.

He might actually have some use for the old coyote’s words.

* * *

The day was finally over; the night having rolled in and filled the sky with the black carpet of infinite space. As it was, the day couldn’t come to a close without him and Dom reentering each other’s orbits.

Dom remained standing, neither his feet nor his arms showing the faintest signs of fatigue after being in constant motion much of the day. Princess Peach gazed back at him from the nook in Dom’s arms. Her bright blue eyes lit on him with a focus too sharp for a three-week old. Quiet now, she seemed to look from him to her brother, knowing him instantly and forcing him awake through her sheer will alone.

Simultaneously, they yawned and mewled kittenishly, and Brian felt the center of his chest melt, because the cute was going to kill him.

Dom was doing his thing by rote, checking him over and carefully deciding how to deliver his conclusions. “You’ve been tied down all day. You wanna take off for a bit?” Brian had been no less tied than Dom was; Dom who actually held one baby for the majority of the day like it was nothing.

But getting out did sound nice. It was the type of night meant for open windows and droptops, and music on the radio that took it’s time in getting the listener to listen and respond, that had a point to make by the time it got to its destination.

“What about you?” Brian asked.

“I’m fine. I can hold down the fort and keep an eye on these two--” His smile showing that the possibility was not a problem in the least. “—While you stretch it out for a bit.”

Brian already had a destination in mind; the route unfolding in his mind’s eye with high definition detail. Yet, Vince’s words echoed in the dark corners, speaking the thoughts he had tried to force himself not to feel.

The solution was simple. “I’m game. A drive sounds nice. But--”

Dom bounced the baby on his forearm. “Yeah?”

 “What if you do the thing with the straps and how ‘bout we all go?” Brian glanced at Dom, then Princess Peach and Sonny Boy, who looked interested but sleep soft.  “I’ve got it on good authority that babies need stimulation, a part of early education and all that.”

Dom put on an easy grin. “Babies’ first road trip?”

“Yep.” Hopefully, the first of many.

Neither twin protested, just yawned again and waited for them to do something exciting.

“You grab the keys and I’ll grab the seats, but someday real soon, you’re going to learn how to strap them in.” Dom promised as he pushed off the rail and dipped low to scoop up his son.

Parked beside the front door inside the house were the car seats. Top of the line bucket seats of dense plastic, cushion and steel, as durable as a roll cage if the packaging was to be believed. Across the top of each seat, letters were stitched into the faux leather interior, giving each twin a sense of ownership and identity.

He and Dom had waited long enough to choose names, the decision not coming lightly and faced a resolve to give them something of meaning. Names that mattered. Family names.

Sonny Boy and Princess Peach came from his family.

Leticio and Jessica were from Dom’s.

They were fitting names, carrying age and history yet the shine of newness sparkled bright, giving the twins something more. Let and Jess were special. Their lives would never be like others. They would soar because of their history and not bear any undue weight to be sunk by it.

As a cop, Brian learned that some accidents were necessary and served a greater purpose. He and Dom might have their fits and starts, but they operated in a fine balance that could only be the result of good chemistry and the universe aligning like elements.

Their disaster of double impact proportions was a miracle. Mia said it and Brian, now through surviving a long road of hard living, believed it. The result of their lives was a confluence of events that cascaded and merged into these defining moments.  

Dom had the seats rigged and set, the handles popped up and the infants waiting for lifting off. Dom didn’t rush him to hurry up, just waited for him to catch up.

Brian might know the road for this trip, but there were many to come that would be unknown and far from straight and easy. No road was meant to be travelled alone; he and Dom would make the right choices when it mattered. Mia would make sure of it.

He was in a good place. They were in a great place.

So he could finally go. “I’m coming,” Brian said as he entered the house.

He grabbed the keys. It was time to ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story and provided feedback. Thank you for giving it a chance. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
>  **Se aparecen como Lindo** : They look like Lindo.  
>  **Ay, carajo, ¿eres ciego o eres baboso?** : What the hell! Are you blind or are you full of shit.  
>  **Hay un pocticito de Lindo alli.** : There is a little of Lindo (Brian) there.  
>  **Pero el resto, Chan, es todo Dom.** : But the rest is all Dom.  
>  **Tu ta pasao** : You're crazy/nuts.  
>  **Vete pa carajo, manin** : Go to hell, man.  
>  **Familia** : familia


End file.
